Cloak and Dagger
by JuggerNoxx
Summary: Spy was one to keep to himself about his past, especially about what he did before joining RED. However, after eight years it finally comes back to haunt him. But he isn't the only one affected when guns are pointed at him and his teammates. And none of them belong to BLU. (Features Medic x Spy.)
1. Black Holes

It was something he'd never get used to, the Respawn System. He wasn't entirely sure which was worse, the feeling of his skin being melted from off of his body by the BLU Pyro that was more zealous than their own, causing him to cry out in agony as Respawn claimed him, or the taste of bile in the back of his throat that the System always left him with. No matter which one he decided to choose, he could at least agree with himself that both of them were rather unpleasant.

It was one of those rare occasions where he couldn't keep it down no matter how hard he tried, and he doubled over and vomited into a bucket he could only assume was there as filler for the Respawn room. The hot and disgusting fluid shot from his body violently, immediately regretting not eating breakfast this morning. Dry heaving wasn't a pleasant experience, either.

"Spy?" asked an accented voice behind him. "'Ya alright, mate?"

Spy stood when he was sure he was done, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. His stomach was still turned over, threatening to bring him to his knees again and cling to an already violated bucket. He turned on his heel- with his arms folded smartly behind his back- to face his comrade behind him. Sniper stood there with his beloved sniper rifle slung around his shoulder. No doubt he had just spawned in time to see the assassin hacking into a bucket. The concerned expression on his face that was clear even under the yellow tinted sunglasses was proof enough of that.

"You sick, mate?"

"Non," Spy sighed, waving a hand in dismissal of the idea before returning it behind his back. "just uneasy. What dragged you out of your nest?"

The sniper grimaced, gripping the strap that held his gun to his shoulder. His eyes shifted from the spy to the open battlefield outside.

"Your bloody counterpart is what dragged me out, that s'what." the marksman's voice was low and dark, the wanting glint of revenge twinkled in his eye. Spy almost laughed if the man in front of him wasn't pissed enough to sock him in the jaw. It's happened before, recently, too, and the mercenary could swear he was still sore from that encounter.

Sniper then rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as if the Respawn System didn't take away the ache of being crudely stabbed in his spine while it was reconstructing him.

But none of that seemed to have mattered when his eyes returned to his friend, the concern from before back in his dark brown irises. "When are 'ya going to tell the doc that this thing makes you feel sick?" he asked with a tired groan in his voice. It was all too obvious to Spy that this was not the first time this had been spoken of. And each time the question passed the Australian's lips, it only served to irritate him more.

Though he couldn't faulted, Spy supposed. The marksman was infamous for boarding over his teammates like a mother hen despite his usual cold demeanor on the battlefield, even though it wasn't necessary.

Nevertheless, Spy disregarded the question as he usually did.

"I'm not." he said simply. "If no one else experiences the issue as I do, then there is no need to finagle with an already near perfect system."

"But it _ain_'_t_ perfect." the look on the Sniper's face spoke volumes about how annoyed he was at Spy's words, and it caused the masked man to sigh tiredly.

He placed a careful hand on his comrade's shoulder, careful not use the one he used to wipe his mouth with, and let out a convincing smile. It served to reassure the gunsman somewhat, as he attempted to return the smile.

"Do not waste yourself on me, Mon Ami." Spy said, the same smile not leaving his face. "I will be fine."

Before Sniper could open his mouth to speak, the Administrator howled over the loudspeaker that they had two minutes left to keep BLU off of their control points. The assassin's good natured smile shifted into a devious smirk before disappearing completely from Sniper's view.

It was time to give the BLU Pyro a little taste of revenge.

. . . . . .

A soft grunt escaped the spy as he lazily shrugged off his suit jacket, his bones aching from today's rather violent battle. BLU had been ever more persistent on their attacks lately, and it was taking its tole. RED was barely able to gain victory today.

Spy's own victory came from paying favor back to the Pyro that had burned him, and his BLU counterpart that had messily stabbed his friend earlier. The Australian saw the latter through his scope and offered a thumbs up, which Spy had grinned at.

The man's back was still sore from being crushed against the wall by an Uber Charged Heavy the other day, the pitiful scream he was barely able to force out of his throat before his body vanished still played in his mind and caused ill.

Still, he couldn't ignore the new soreness that plagued him, and he figured that nothing would help better than a scorching shower as he carefully undressed himself. He may have thought that Gorge was a dreadful place, that always had a lingering stench of rusting metal, but the personal bathrooms that they all had instead of one smelly locker room that was far too small to accommodate them all most of the time, was something he longed for.

He didn't even bother to test the water before pulling the pin at the base of the showerhead. He had simply cranked the lever up all the way to red until he couldn't anymore. The water burned into him, and it was a kind of burn that would leave the body burning long after it was over, the skin bright pink, and steam filtering from off of him.

He loved his showers like this, the teeth gritting burn as the water first poured from out of the nozzle was something like a drug. It was cleansing, relaxing, and _Mon Dieu _did it hurt. But he still loved it.

Some would claim him to be a masochist for enjoying the pain this much, and maybe he was. But there was no denying how _alive_ it made him feel.

Spy allowed himself to moan slightly as he placed his hand onto the wall under the showerhead, leaning most of his weight onto his wrist. As he allowed the water to run over his head and through his thick hair, he ran a hand through the sweaty and matted mess atop his head.

The assassin was graying healthily about his temples as the silver colour weaved its way through the underlines of his hair, and he allowed his eyes to look over his figure. He was exactly forty-three, turned so in November barely a week before, and still in the same shape as he was twenty years ago. Toned muscle in his chest, biceps and stomach. There was hardly a layer of fat that could be seen on him, and he was proud of himself for that.

If he wasn't stalking, watching, or stabbing, he was doing his best to keep the same fitness he's had for over three decades. He did this away from everyone, of course. In the dark of the night where he was sure everyone was asleep and his insomnia didn't allow him the same bliss.

There was one occasion, however, where Heavy had waltzed in, unable to sleep himself and had had the same idea as the Frenchmen. The beastly Russian was the only other person- besides the Administrator herself- on the base to see him without his mask. He was never meant to see the merc's face, but Spy supposed it was his own fault seeing how he was sitting in complete darkness. Heavy had assumed he was the only one awake.

He had been heaving himself over a bar in a pullup, one arm draped at his side as the other supported all of his body weight. Shirtless and near buck-ass nude if it weren't for a pair of loose fitting trousers he used to sleep in.

Heavy said that he was impressed, not by the lack of the concealing face-wear normally worn by his comrade, but by how toned he actually was. The Russian admitted he always imagined him to be a lengthy, stick of a man, and that was how he managed to be so sneaky. Instead he was rather buff, especially for a man his age.

The gunsman must have seen the raw panic on the spy's face when he realized his identity had been compromised, because Heavy made no comment on how the man looked. Nor did he bring it up when he saw him any time afterwards. He must have made himself forget that he ever saw it that day for his own safety and that of the spy's.

The assassin was eternally grateful for that.

After the feeling of the burn was gone, he was quick to wash himself and leave, a clean suit to greet everyone at dinner.

Spy could smell the lingering scent of roast, and to say he wasn't excited would have been a bullshit lie. The very thought of eating something other than dirt today made his stomach almost roar, a sharp pain within it as if it was kicking itself in excitement.

The smell reminded him that he hadn't eaten all day. He had skipped breakfast mainly because he felt sick when he woke this morning, and was sure he wouldn't have been able to keep it down. Though the pain and the feeling of emptiness he felt made him regret not trying at least.

The Frenchman walked into the largest room of Gorge on RED's side that had been converted into something of a dinning hall. Hands in his pants pockets, cigarette in his mouth and his normal smug look on his lips as he sauntered in, he took his place next to Sniper and Medic.

The German waved away the smoke from the cancer stick, and it caused the mercenary to grin and blow more smoke his way on purpose. Through his coughing, Medic had spat something harsh in German, and Spy could only assume he was being called an asshole.

And he was right, the best damn one in the business.

Or so he thought.


	2. Maladie

**_Before you read: Please note that I am not at all fluent in German or French, and I get my translations from an app on my phone. So far it's been rather accurate with what I want said. So I apologize first hand if anything is off. Also, for those of you who do not know, Maladie is French for "Illness"._**

* * *

><p>"Two." said Spy as he sat precariously on Medic's examination table, the German doctor pressing against several different places on Spy's upper body. What was supposed to be a routine check-up everyone had to go through once every month, turned into a full blown evaluation. Again, his own fault he supposed. He had made it known that he was in pain when he shifted funny to tug his suit jacket back on over his shoulders.<p>

Now he was being groped uncomfortably as Medic tried to find the source.

Spy didn't like having the top half of him exposed. It made him feel vulnerable. Several scars and marks littered him that were not exactly attractive or unnoticeable.

However, Medic was having no argument when Spy tried to resist. His protests of stripping down into nothing but his suit pants and mask was met by a rather loud argument that caused Sniper to check in for a second to make sure the two men hadn't ripped out each others' throats.

Eventually, Medic had to practically strap the mercenary down and near rip his damn undershirt off.

Spy was instructed to say the level of pain he felt out of ten whenever Medic had poked at him. Most of which Spy would answer with a one, two, and rarely a three.

It was strange, though. Despite how uncomfortable the Frenchman felt, he had to admit that the doctor's touch was more gentle than he expected. Normally whenever he was exposed like this, he had the luxury of being under anesthetic as he was cut into. When he woke, he had no memory of what was done to him, nor any evidence that anything was askew either.

Now he could feel just how light his touch was, which was to be expected from a man who had spent so many years in the field. Though it didn't make Spy feel any more comfortable.

"What about here?" Medic asked, looking at the merc over the rim of his glasses as his pointer finger pressed against a rib. Honestly, the assassin was always sore one way or another, but his ribs were almost never part of the issue. He had merely given the doctor a one through a sigh, his head beginning to feel light.

Ever since yesterday's battle he had been annoyingly weak. His body had barely been able to carry him over to the Med Bay for the check-up in the first place. Spy wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he had an idea it had something to do with the Respawn System.

This base was old and obsolete despite its shiny paint job, and it was almost impossible to do something correctly if it involved any of its technology.

Which meant that made Medic and Engineer's job harder than it needed to be. In turn, both the men were more irritable than usual.

So with the heater shitting out in the middle of the night, the stove in the kitchen barely even able to heat the middle of the food being made, the bathroom pipes constantly backing up, and not to mention the loudspeakers shorting out at least once or twice during each battle, it wasn't far fetched that the Respawn System would leave Spy with a sickened feeling.

The loudspeakers shorting out was most likely the most annoying thing about this damnable base. It had been about two weeks ago when The Administrator had been giving them instructions of what exactly needed to be done, when the loudspeakers had cut out while she was in the middle of a sentence. The glitch had made it sound like she had said the word "Penis."

Of course Scout had began to giggle like a little girl, and didn't stop until Spy had smacked the back of his head. Hard.

It also didn't stop him from bringing it up several times over dinner or in the morning during breakfast until someone had violently forced him to shut his mouth. Engineer had did so once by shoving a roll of bread into Scout's mouth. Which was hilarious.

Unfortunately he kept persisting it was the most gut splitting thing until Ms. Pauling had called him in to tell him it was inappropriate to keep repeating it.

But in reality it was righteously pissing the Administrator off and she was worried the women would snap the young mercenary's neck with one of his own bats.

Which Spy would have payed to see.

Nevertheless, no matter how much he tried to imagine Scout being strangled by a pissed off Administrator, it didn't make Spy feel any better.

He had almost forgot he was being examined until Medic began prodding his back, and the doctor recoiled when he had touched the base of the assassin's spine and he cried out.

"Seven." Spy growled through grit teeth, eyes closed in a wince and hands gripping the table ledge.

"Well," said Medic as he cleaned his glasses with his waist coat before putting them back on. "at least I've found what's causing your discomfort."

"_Brilliant_ observation, connard." Spy hissed in his mother tongue.

"Now now, no need to insult." Medic sighed. "Were you ever going to tell me about this?"

"Non."

The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation. "And why not?"

"Because it's none of your business."

Medic's face dropped, his hand falling to his side as his expression twisted into one that clearly said "Seriously?"

"Du machst Witze..."

"Quoi?" Spy raised a brow.

"You're joking, ja?" he repeated in English, the same expression on his face.

"I am experiencing a bit of pain, and it does not call for you to stick your nose into it." Spy said, his voice spitting more venom than he intended. He softened his next words slightly.

"You do not need to concern yourself with every personal matter-"

However his words were cut short when the now sensitive part of his back was roughly jabbed. A pained scream ripped from his already snore throat- caused by his sudden sickness- and would have doubled over if it weren't for the German doctor catching him.

"I believe it _is_ my concern." he said sternly.

Spy hissed through clenched teeth, pushing the other man away as he cursed rather colourfully in French, his accent thick and rough. It was an unpleasant contrast to his usual smooth and seductive tone, but such violence was expected from a man in so much pain.

However, Medic's face twisted from annoyance to anger.

"I _do_ know French, you know." he scowled through narrowed eyes, as if something the mercenary's had said was rather offensive to the German's ears.

"I care not!" Spy snapped. "Do not do that again!"

"Don't be such a baby."

"Te faire foutre!"

"Mein Gott, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Medic sighed as he gently pushed the raging Frenchman down into a laying position.

"Oh I'd do a lot more than that to you if this didn't hurt so fucking much." grumbled Spy as Medic merely hummed in response.

Spy continued mumbling to himself as the doctor flicked on the X-Ray machine. His words grew weak as the old machine roared to life, its hum loud and obnoxious, unlike the one that Medic had used to disregard his comrade.

His breaths turned shallow as his adrenaline from the previous pain began to saunter away. Spy's eyes focused on the lights above that burned to life, almost transfixed until Medic had covered his eyes with his hand to protect them.

Through the doctor's fingers, Spy could see the lights flash brightly as the machine took pictures of his insides, a total of three flashes before the hand was removed from his face.

When the switch was flicked off, the once harsh growling died down into silence, and the room became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Unfortunately, the colour had rushed from Spy's face and Medic became immediately concerned.

"Es tut mir leid, my friend." he apologized in a soft tone, offering a hand to help the assassin back into a sitting position. He still had a paleness that Medic didn't like, but he had hoped sitting up would sort that out.

"This machine ist old and desperately needs to be replaced." he said almost to himself as he turned to find something to soothe Spy's pain while he waited for the X-Rays.

Spy was being far too quiet. For a man who depended on stealth and silence for his job, he was rather talkative whenever he was allowed the chance during his off hours.

Medic knew the machine was old. And probably gave off more radiation than a more high-tech version of the same thing. He also knew it certainly wasn't powerful enough to render someone speechless.

Something else was wrong.

And when he turned to look at his teammate- who was now back in a laying position that didn't seem natural or comfortable- his concern was well justified.

"Herr Spy?" said Medic as he rushed over, his comrade letting out a pitiful whine as a response. He had gone downhill fast. _Alarmingly_ fast.

Spy had already been slightly pale when he walked in an hour ago, but Medic thought nothing of it. Now he knew he should have.

"I need you to tell me what else is wrong." Medic's voice was demanding, gently taking the spy's face in one of his hands so he could look at him.

"Nothing is... I am... Amende..." the Frenchman's words were as weak as he looked, a stark and shocking contrast to his earlier rage. Unfortunately, this- whatever it was- didn't seem to be affecting his infuriating stubbornness.

Medic refused to let this go, however. If he were honest with himself, he was greatly worried. It was not something he'd admit to aloud, though.

He then noticed just how hot Spy felt. It almost burned to touch his skin.

"Talk off your mask, bitte."

"_No_." Spy's voice was strangely firm despite his current condition, and the fact he had used English for that one word instead of French like he usually did was slightly intimidating.

But Medic didn't flinch.

"Look," his own voice was firm and more powerful than his teammate's as he stared him down. "you have a fever. Something you had before was irritated by the X-Ray and I need to know what. And because of your fever, the mask _needs_ to come off so you do not overheat."

Spy swatted the doctor's hand away when he tried to pull the face-wear off himself.

"I said no."

"Do _not_ make me do this for you." Medic warned harshly.

"J-je vous défie..."

Medic took that as a challenge and held Spy down with his forearm against Spy's chest as his other hand tugged at the crimson balaclava.

"_Non_!" cried the Frenchman, weak hands gripping the ends of his mask down to keep it from slipping off of his head. He struggled as much as his weak body would allow him to against the doctor's grasp, his already fading strength draining faster with every kick and shout. Medic growled as he too struggled to keep his comrade still.

The German knew the added flailing would only serve to add to Spy's sudden illness, and he was desperate to get him to calm down. Spy felt threatened, that was obvious. He always had that mask on to protect whatever was behind it, but at this particular moment, Medic didn't care for the reason why.

He would do what he could to treat his patient.

Sweat beaded from Spy's forehead, soaking the brow of the face-wear they both fought over. Medic hissed when he took a sharp kick in his ribcage, but didn't give in.

Finally, he had become fed up and harshly slammed Spy against the metal table and placed a hand against the mercenary's throat, bringing him up to look at him. Their eyes locked as Spy looked fearful, Medic's fury shown clear in his green irises.

"Do _not_ make me become violent, épier." the doctor snarled and Spy froze, his hands slipping from off the bottom his mask and onto the cold steel table. He had believed Medic was bluffing when he threatened that he spoke French. Something to get him to shut up and stop his ranting.

So when the French word for what he was passed Medic's lips, it had taken him by surprise. So much so that he had not noticed his mask was being pulled off until it was taken from him.

He suddenly felt so vulnerable. So naked. So intimidated.

And suddenly afraid.

The assassin heard a click, though, one that reassured him as he looked up and saw that Medic had locked the door to the room. He wasn't going to allow anyone into the room while the mercenary was unmasked, shirtless, and near powerless. Spy couldn't think of anything worse than his other teammates walking in and seeing him in a such a way.

He'd much rather die.

"I understand why you're so hesitant," Medic started, leaning against the now locked door. He leaned hard against it, as if he was trying to reassure Spy further that no one was going to get in.

"you have a complicated past, perhaps more so than the rest of us here. You have to be careful about whom you show your face to."

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, and Spy's head beginning to spin and ring from when it was slammed against a hard surface. Despite his dizziness, he nodded, and the doctor sighed.

"Your secret is safe with me. As far as I'm concerned, nothing that happens in this room leaves it. I'll even forget everything I saw of you if that is what you wish."

There was a sort of comfort to Medic's voice, an understanding that Spy didn't know he had. Nevertheless, it served to allow Spy to let his guard down slightly as he closed his eyes, fatigue overtaking him.

"Besides," Medic started again, looking at the clock on the opposite wall as it read 11 PM.

"you're not as ugly as I first thought you were."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Spy's mouth.


	3. Revelations

_**Note: I'm not entirely sure the names of the mercs in TF2, besides a few. Medic and Spy not being one of those few. So I'll give them names in the mean time until I can sure what they really are. If you happen to know their actual names (And I mean ACTUAL. I don't want a "I think their name is-" response. If you don't know for sure, don't say anything please.) please tell me and I will make sure to fix it.**_

* * *

><p>Today's battle felt slightly empty without a certain French assassin skulking around, Sniper found himself looking out of the corner of his eye every once in a while to see if a cloud of vapor appeared next to him, relieving the mercenary. But he never showed, and his BLU counterpart was causing frustration and mayhem without Spy sauntering around to keep him in his place.<p>

He was incapacitated in the Med Bay, his sickness had gotten worse over the last few nights and Medic had to keep him there to have him stay under observation. Not to mention his constant moaning from his back pain that not even the Medigun could fix.

Which completely stumped Medic as to why.

They had lost today. Horribly. And the Administrator had grilled into them about how soft they had become.

Engineer had suffered the worst during the match. Without Spy around to make sure any chances his counterpart had to take out any of the Texan's buildings were crushed, his sentry was sapped a total of seven times. It had taken serious damage and needed to be repaired. Which could take hours of trying to figure out just what needed to be repaired and what needed to be completely replaced.

The very thought made the man sigh as the Administrator continued her seemingly endless screeching.

Medic was backstabbed more than usual, Heavy was constantly blown to smithereens by BLU Soldier, Sniper got a taste of his own medicine more than once, Pyro kept running into their own counterpart, and Scout was captured mid-fight and was tortured for the rest of the match.

Even a comforting shoulder pat and pep-talk from Demoman did nothing to stop the poor lad from shaking. Medic could only imagine what BLU did to him.

No one was able to sneak into the heavily guarded BLU base to rescue him, which they all felt guilty for. Even Soldier.

It made them all realize just what an important piece of the puzzle Spy actually was.

* * *

><p>Dinner was quiet. Everyone was too busy feeling too ashamed of themselves for today's fight, but that was mostly from the Administrator's harsh words. She wasn't normally that bitter, so it might have been an off day for everyone.<p>

Ms. Pauling had gone down to the dinning hall to inform them that they'd be transferred to Double Cross in a week. It would have been sooner, tomorrow was supposed to be the day, but Medic had somehow convinced the Administrator that Spy was in no condition to travel.

Her bite was vicious, but Medic was able fight back the fangs and claws she seemed to have tossed at him through the monitor and made her agree to a week's time to prepare.

Of course she had called him a Sauerkraut eating asswagon before disconnecting, and he stood there for a minute trying to process what the hell that meant, but eventually gave up.

"Also I want to..." Ms Pauling looked hesitant, passing an uneasy glance at the loudspeakers as if fearing the Administrator could hear them.

"I want to apologize for what she said today." she finished, straightening herself in a new-found confidence.

"You mean when she practically tore us a new asshole for losin' _one_ match?" Sniper asked with a slight bitterness to his tone, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well... yes." Ms Pauling cleared her throat. "But to be fair, she's been under a lot of stress-"

"And we haven't?" Sniper snapped.

"Now now," Medic's accented voice broke the tension. "no need to snap at the young lady, Sniper. It is not her fault that we were so crudely torn into."

"Thank you, Medic." sighed Pauling, the German nodding in response.

He returned attention to his meal, Pauling making her way to Scout to check how he was fairing. The young merc had stopped shaking about an hour ago but he still had a look to his eyes that replayed his horror. Medic would have to evaluate him later.

The doctor felt Heavy nudge his arm, his eyes quickly darting to the clock on the wall before returning to his friend's face. Medic knew what he was trying to do, it was almost six PM and it was highly possible Spy was awake. However, there was something Medic had to address first before returning to the wounded Frenchman.

He stood, giving Heavy a look saying that he wouldn't be coming back for the night, and the Russian nodded.

After walking over to the table Ms. Pauling sat herself at, he hooked his leg over the bench and straddled it. He crossed his arms over his chest as he gave a look to Solider and Demoman, the both of them nodding before leaving.

"I have something rather troubling for you, Fräulein."

"Oh?"

"The Respawn System. I am not sure if it is just Gorge, but it leaves Spy with a rather... Unpleasant feeling."

"Does anyone else experience it?"

"That I know of, nein." the German sighed. "I have been too preoccupied to ask around."

"It's been giving me headaches, lately." the voice of Engineer cut in, sitting down across from the both of them. "And it ain't just Gorge. Our spit at Dustbowl left me with debilitating migraines."

Medic could attest to that. He remembered the Texan had near limped into his office complaining that he felt as if his head was going to split open. He had given him the strongest painkillers he had and it did him no good.

Ms. Pauling pursed her lips as she looked down at the files she seemed to have always carried around with her. She looked back at Medic with concern in her eyes. No doubt the Administrator had told her of Spy's strange condition, hence why he was not in battle today.

"What about Spy?"

"His illness is fluctuating between getting worse and better,"

"Can't you use the Medigun?"

"It does not heal sickness, nein."

"What about his back?"

"There is a disk at the base of his spin that is swollen and is pressing against a nerve. That is what is causing the pain. If I do not preform on it soon, it could burst."

"And the Medigun?"

"It cannot seem to touch it, which continues to baffle me."

"Tell me what you need."

"My supply of anesthetic is low, and I refuse to operate unless I have enough to make sure he's out."

"Done."

"And I need you to get permission from the Administrator to allow modifications on the Respawn System."

Ms. Pauling froze.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"You _do_ realize-"

Medic held a hand up.

"I understand this will be like pulling teeth from a live jaguar, so I do not need this right away. But I would like to eventually take a look at it to avoid this problem in the future."

Ms. Pauling snorted.

"I think pulling teeth would be easier."

Medic chuckled slightly, eyes looking up at the clock again as it read 6:15. He needed to get back down to the Med Bay.

The German bid farewell and began down the halls. They were dimly lit tonight, the generator outside had been on the fritz, which Engineer said he would try to fix after he ate.

He walked with his hands in pockets, the lights above him flickering as they struggled to stay on, one even blowing out entirely with a slight bang. Medic slightly jumped at the sound, perhaps still a bit paranoid from today's battle. His own back was still sore from the several times he was stabbed.

The doctor opened the door to the medical wing, feeling eyes dart to him as soon as he walked in. The room was dark and quiet, the only noise being the slight hum and coos of the doves that made their home within the Med Bay.

Archimedes immediately landed on his master's shoulder, cooing happily and nudging Medic's chin. The doctor offered him a short scratch below his neck before the bird flew off.

A small grunt escaped from the man on the cot as he tried to straighten himself, wincing hard as blinding lights were flicked on.

The two men exchanged no words as Medic went to his desk, shuffling through different files and papers, pursing his lips the longer he searched.

Spy had raised a brow as he watched his teammate, trying to read what any of the files said. Unfortunately they were all in shorthand German. Clearly Medic wanted to make it so only _he_ could read them.

Realizing that his efforts were in vain, Spy lay back down, placing one arm behind his head to rest on. He heard the doctor mumbling to himself in German as he read one of the files, and tried to make out what he was saying, but unfortunately could not. It made him slightly regret that he never took the time to learn the language.

_"I do know French, you know."_

It made Spy wonder when, and why, the doctor decided to learn French in the first place. Surely it was years before they both knew each other existed, but it certainly made him more curious about Medic's past.

Nevertheless, he couldn't stand the awkward silence between them both, so he broke it with a shaky voice.

"Did we win?" he asked, referring to the battle.

"Nein."

Spy sighed.

"Details."

Medic continued his almost frantic search through his desk as he explained the battle in full. How they all suffered without Spy there. He was honestly expecting the Frenchman to say some snide comment along the lines of "Of course you were all lost without me.", but he didn't. Medic had to admit he was slightly surprised.

The doctor explained how Scout was taken hostage and brutally tortured, and Spy quite visibly winced.

"How is he now?"

"Not... well, but not terrible either."

Spy sighed again and pressed Medic to continue.

Medic explained Engineer's struggle, Sniper's, and even his own. The bit about his counterpart suddenly growing a backbone intrigued him the most. He found it strange that he had gotten suddenly more courageous, and he wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't there to intimidate him, or if his fear suddenly shook off over night.

Medic continued, blowing over the part where the Administrator viciously grilled into them after their failure. That was nothing new nor interesting to Spy.

He did shoot up into a sitting position when it was brought up that they were being transferred again.

"Quoi?"

"Ja."

"But we have only been here for a week." Spy reminded him.

"I'm aware, but I've learned not to question the Administrator, especially when she is in a mood." Medic sighed himself, out of exhaustion and relief as he finally found the file he was looking for.

Spy's medical record.

The doctor could see the assassin stiffen from out of the corner of his eye.

"I did manage to convince her to allow us to stay another week until you are back on your feet, as apposed to tomorrow." he continued, as if disregarding that he held something that could ruin and endanger his teammate's life in the snap of fingers. Medic did find it strange, however, that the file read "_N/A_" in the space where Spy's name should go.

He flicked through the different pages, the file surprisingly thick despite the fact most of Spy's previous records were burned.

Or so Spy once believed.

"Tomorrow I'm going to preform surgery on you to drain the unneeded fluid out of your spine and try to fix that swollen disk. If I cannot, then I will remove it." explained Medic. He interrupted Spy before words could come out of his open mouth.

"No, it will not paralyze you. Not if I do it right and replace it properly with an implant." he continued. "So get some rest, and we start as soon as I get my shipment of anesthetic in the morning."

* * *

><p>Spy's fever had returned, as it did every night. And it was a struggle to get him to remove his mask. As it was every night.<p>

This night, however, was worse than the others. Spy had began mumbling loudly in an unintelligent babble that not even Medic could understand. He broke out in a cold sweat, fidgeting in his anything-but-restful sleep, and his shouting was upsetting the birds.

Needless to say, sleep was impossible for the German doctor, and he would be lying if he said he didn't despise Spy for it at the moment.

He was trying his best to calm the doves down, the birds frantically flapping around their cages as the struggling and shouting startled them. Medic cooed and shushed his pets, stroking them lightly with a finger as they cooed back at him.

The doctor was finally able to hush the birds enough to the point where they were merely communicating amongst themselves.

Medic looked back at the assassin as his fidgeting became worse, his words becoming more clear. He was speaking French, frantic and almost broken. The doctor was not fluent in the language, but he knew enough to get inside Spy's head, and honestly, he almost hated himself for it.

But dammit, he left him no choice.

Despite how broken it was, Medic was able to understand some of what he was saying. He was going on about someone named Chevalier, obviously someone from the Frenchman's past.

"Je ne sais rien..."

Medic found himself mouthing what he could understand in English, suddenly interested in what the other man was talking about.

"I know nothing." he repeated to himself. Knew what?

"Allez-vous en."

Go away. He hadn't said it in a snide way, but in a pleading tone. As if whoever he was talking to was was drilling into him for information he didn't want to share. It caused Medic to purse his lips as Spy began mumbling "no" over and over, then looking as if he was in pain.

Then the screaming started.

Medic rushed over to hold the now failing Spy down as he screeched out in pain he felt so many years before. It had riled the birds up again, and the doctor cursed to himself before returning attention to his patient. He was fighting against Medic's grasp as if he believed that he was the one doing God knows what to him.

"_NON!_" Spy cried, body soaked in sweat, which made keeping a proper grip on him near impossible.

Another sharp kick in the ribs, a fist to the jaw, nails tearing at skin as the mercenary flailed against the German's hold, desperately trying to escape but his body was too run down. Too weak, to exhausted to fight against it much longer.

The struggling led to a small metal table being kicked over, its contents spilling out all over the floor. Medic heard the shattering of glass as he stepped on an empty syringe as he adjusted. Unfortunately his feet had been bare because he had stripped down into nothing but a pair of trousers and a tee shirt to sleep in. He could feel the blood smearing on the linoleum, but it was something that would have to be addressed later.

"Vous ne allez pas me forcer!" Spy shouted, forcing another fist in Medic's direction, nailing him right in the nose.

Medic recoiled, backing away from Spy for a moment to cradle his now bleeding nose, blood from his foot now being smeared further along the floor.

He wiped the ooze from his nose with his hand then onto his shirt, a crimson colour now staining the white fabric, before returning to the screeching Frenchman.

Now Medic was becoming forceful, repeating what he did the other day by slamming him against the cot, Spy crying out in response. It wasn't as affective as it was the first time, seeing how he wasn't against metal, but it served well enough.

But he just wouldn't give, and Medic eventually went to straddling his teammate in an attempt to calm him enough to wake him. Unfortunately it only the situation worse as Spy's nails dug into Medic's arms, eventually drawing more blood from his body.

Rage was beginning to take over the German doctor as he wrapped his hands around the assassin's throat and started constricting. It only served to make Spy panic more as a choked gasp ripped from his throat, the scratching now focusing on the hands that were squeezing his life away.

"A-arrêtez! Stop!" Spy pleaded with a weak voice. Medic had slightly lightened his grip to allow Spy to breathe properly as his struggling stopped.

"B-Benoît..."

"Was?" Medic asked the seemingly out of it Spy, then froze at the next words to pass the weak Frenchman's lips,

_"Mon nom est Benoît..." _

Holy shit.


	4. Travel Blues

_**Sorry about the slow update, you guys ^^'' I was stressed because of school finals and I had an annoying stent of Writer's Block. But I pushed through it for you guys! And as always, if the language in his chapter is off, I apologize, as I am not fluent in either German or French. I wish I was, though.**_

* * *

><p>Spy felt like a new man. When he woke from his surgery last week, he had shook Medic's hand so hard the doctor had to flex it to make sure nothing was broken. He felt no pain, and his illness had gone away in a few more days with the help of a few medications.<p>

The mercenary did not miss swallowing pills that were large enough to give even Heavy some trouble. Spy had wanted to toss the bottles containing the wicked things back into the Med-Bay when he was sure he didn't need them anymore. He had decided to help Medic pack them instead, as he figured it was the least he could've done.

At this time a week ago, Spy could barely heave himself onto his feet without wanting to cry out in his agony. Now he's helping Ms. Pauling carry her surprisingly heavy pay-load to the compartments on the side of the bus. The Administrator had already left hours before the team had even woken up, leaving her assistant to watch over RED as if they were troubled children. Ms. Pauling said this was because the Administrator needed her space, and Spy supposed that meant from her as well.

"But I don't mind traveling with you guys," she had once said. "There's certainly never a dull moment." That she had said with a nervous laugh. Mainly because Soldier had been having an episode and was screaming about Nazi seagulls circling him. Spy didn't even know if Germany HAD seagulls.

They do. Twenty-three different types, to be exact.

Nevertheless, they were finally able to board the bus after the struggle of stuffing luggage into bus compartments, going through a seating chart that Soldier seemed to think was always necessary, and trying to all squeeze through the doors at once. As the vehicle set off, it didn't take long for Spy to recline his seat back and rest one leg over the other. He had opened the novel that had been put off for so many months now, immediately diving into the prologue.

Besides, he'd have to return it to Medic's personal library eventually.

And despite the various signs plastered all over the bus' walls advising against smoking, Spy had taken out his fancily engraved cigarette case and perched one of the sticks between his lips. As he lit it with his lighter- which of a zippo lighter, also engraved with the symbol of the organization he was trained in- he saw Ms. Pauling glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

She didn't say anything, though, she didn't need to. Spy knew well enough what he was trying to tell him, but he didn't listen. If he was going to be stuck in a confined space for sixteen hours with his normally obnoxious teammates, he deserved something that made him feel relaxed. Her looking away was his que that she agreed.

Albeit uneasily.

He looked around instead of reading, figuring that one more distraction before getting into the literature wouldn't cause much harm. He watched as his teammates settled into the long trip ahead of them in their own ways, each man doing their own thing. Medic had already made use of the tray you're able to pull out of the seat in front of you, placing a folder onto it that was thick with various types of paperwork, old and new. He glanced at another folder that was lazily laying open on the seat next to him before going back to the one on the tray.

He was working on something, and Spy's eyesight isn't what it used to be so he couldn't tell _what_ he was working on. So the mercenary moved on to the next person, seeing how the doctor was never an interesting man on these trips.

Scout was fiddling with a tablet like device doing God knows what to it as his head subconsciously bobbed to the music blaring in his headphones. Sniper was in a conversation with the surprisingly sober Demoman, both reminiscing about battles past. Heavy was inspecting one of the many bullets that lined the holster wrapped around his chest. Each bullet was bigger when Spy's own index finger, and the Russian's counterpart had painted the walls with the Frenchman on more than one occasion. He winced as he remembered the split second sensation and moved on.

Soldier was playing with a deck of cards on his own tray that he utilized for playing poker with himself, and by the look on the part of his face that was visible, he was losing. Engineer occupied the seat next to the self-proclaimed "Jane Doe", reading as he chuckled at the swears Soldier mumbled under his breath.

Pyro sat alarmingly still in the seat closest to the isle in the row in front of Spy, the Frenchman not exactly admiring how close he was to the thing. They were flicking a lighter on and off, slightly giggling to themselves as if they were imagining something burning to ashes. It would have been interesting to watch, if it wasn't so fucking creepy.

Unfortunately, though, it was all so... _boring_.

Spy hated himself for loathing the silence. He was a man that depended on just that in order to do his job properly and without complications. Off duty though, he might as well have been a social butterfly. Granted, the most he did was insult his comrades to get a cheap laugh, but it alleviated the boredom.

The only sound that kept him from going mad was the sound of his own inhaling and exhaling as he smoked, casually allowing the vapor out through his nose as his eyes returned to his book. Spy wanted conversation, but he didn't want to be the one to initiate it.

So for now, he had nothing going for him but to smoke like a chimney and read something he had been putting off for months.

Finishing his cigarette, he flicked the butt out of the open window before closing it, reaching into his carry-on bag and fumbled around for his cologne without taking eyes off of the words in his book. He ever so slightly sprayed under his suit jacket to rid himself of the smell of tar once he found he was looking for, returning the bottle to its rightful place in the bag.

He had just finished the prologue, and it seemed promising enough, if not a bit dry.

"That should be four, not nine." said Ms. Pauling, looking over her seat in front of Medic to the various equations that the doctor was working on.

"Ach," snorted Medic. "Forgot to carry the one, danke."

"What are you doing?"

"A re-evaluation of the Respawn System."

"Medic-"

"I'm well aware that you had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Helen to allow me to look at the System. However, I am a persistent man who does not take no for an answer." The German then looked around, as if to make sure no one would listen in on their conversation. He looked at Spy and Scout last, but both had seemed too engrossed in their own activities to care about what Medic was doing.

Nevertheless, he had lowered his voice into a whisper before speaking again. His words would be drowned out by the roar of the bus engine, silent to all but the assistant in front of him.

"She will agree eventually. Especially when I provide her with evidence that it is flawed."

"Spy's condition and a bit of math won't sway her." said Ms. Pauling, her voice lowered as well as she caught on to what the doctor was attempting to do.

"Nein, but the conditions of others and a _lot_ of math will."

"What do you mean?"

Medic grabbed the folder he was currently looking at. It was old. Really old. Its usual gold colour was fading into a pale yellow, water stains and coffee rings lining it every which way. Corners were teared, bits of the folder's shell torn away to reveal the soft white paper underneath it. It had creases and fold marks at the torn corners as if something once resting on it had bent it for a long period of time.

Medic was not the first man to handle the folder, and he most likely wouldn't be the last.

It was filled with equations that were almost identical to that of those that lay in the almost pristine folder resting on the tray. Only the ones written by Medic were decreased in the math significantly, the doctor explaining that the old folder belonged to the man who had built the first Respawn system. Back when the war between the Mann brothers was beginning again.

Also involved in the mess of math were the equations used to fix the System whenever it went down or was on the fritz. In his nine years working as a hired mercenary for Redmond Mann, he had never seen the damn thing fixed, or even _looked_ at once. The Administrator had assured him countless times that it was because the system was finally perfect and didn't need to be tampered with. However, according to the equations he had been running since yesterday, it _wasn't _perfect.

Far from it.

Medic had taken the math from when it was first built, to when it was repaired, and even when it was completely taken apart and put back together again. Then added, subtracted, multiplied and divided to get the difference to show its current condition. And it was failing.

Spy's back, Engineer's headaches, the burns on Scouts arms. These were not fixed by going through Respawn like they should have been, but rather they were made worse. The Medigun was of no use with these things as well, and even the most complicated of math could not tell Medic why that was.

He knew both things were made with the same materials, the same technique, and by the same man. Only one was a smaller, less powerful version of the original. However, Medic was allowed modifications to the Medigun that he was assured was his, the man even losing hours, if not days of sleep trying to perfect the machine. He should have had so many scars, so many marks on his body from the experiments he had run on himself, but the Medigun had gotten rid of them all.

But it could not heal the dead, nor bring them back from such no matter how much he fiddled with the science. It was only the Respawn System that could do so, completely reconstructing a body that had been blown to smithereens by a rocket or stickybomb in the matter of mere seconds. Then that person was allowed to run back out into the battlefield that they should have been lying dead on.

But now that was failing, and so was the Medigun.

"They're both linked," Ms. Pauling piped-up when Medic seemed to have began to mumble on to himself.

"Verzeihung?" questioned Medic, being pulled out of his thoughts by a few simple words.

"Australium is used to power both, and they collect their energy from one main source, right?"

"Ja..."

"And like you said, they're built almost the exact same way, and that material isn't like others." as she continued, Medic stared at her with ever widening eyes.

"It's smart, the Australium. It's how Australia grew so advanced in such a short amount of time. Seeing how the Medigun draws water from the same well as the Respawn System, maybe the material thinks the Medigun is just another part of the Respawn?" she was going off almost to herself this time, but Medic listened with great interest and intent, not wanting to miss a word she says.

"It would only be logical to assume that even though you've done modifications to the gun, it doesn't mean anything as long as the main system is in a state of decay." she explained, her eyes going back to Medic's.

"So as the Respawn System degrades-"

"So does the Medigun." Medic finished for her, sitting back in his char as if he was just told devastating news. "Mein Gott..."

He had nearly gasped at his sudden realization, and his look of shock quickly turned into that of a menacing grin. This seemed to have startled Ms. Pauling as she slightly moved away from the homicide inclined doctor, and he looked at her as his grin didn't waver.

"Fräulein,"

"Y-yes?"

"You're a genius."

* * *

><p>There were nothing but downsides to being in the desert. It was hot as the inner circle of Hell during the day, and colder than a witch's tit at night. Spy personally hated both, and it was difficult for him to find a happy medium. However, he had a flask of hard whiskey to keep himself warm as the day winded down. It had been carefully placed into his carry-on bag per his request to Ms. Pauling.<p>

How he did love that woman sometimes.

As the time was creeping towards seven PM, the sun nuzzled closer against the horizon as if they were old lover, the temperature dropping along with the daylight. Spy watched as the colours of the sunset began to fade away, and he nearly groaned in delight as the liquor left a fiery trail down his throat as he swallowed. It left a pleasant warmth to spread through his body, his hand tightening the cap of the flask before returning it to the bag.

He looked around to notice that some of his teammates weren't having the same luck on the warmth front.

Both Engineer and Sniper didn't seem phased, as they were, without a doubt, used to these conditions. One being raised in the Lone Star State of Texas, the other in the technologically thriving Australia. Heavy didn't seem bothered as much as he was, either. Growing up in Russia had its perks, even if that meant it felt like your skin was melting off in 70° heat. The Russian brute didn't seem affected by the sudden cold, however.

Engineer had taken off the coat he had put on not even an hour earlier and covered a sleeping, shivering Scout, then continuing on with his reading as if he hadn't done it.

Medic was too involved in his work to even notice that the sun was going down, Demoman was passed out because of the hard liquor he had been chugging since eight in the morning, and Soldier was sitting completely still, head tilted to the side in an indication that he was asleep. Pyro was blissfully watching the scenery pass by as the bus sped down the interstate.

Ms. Pauling, however, looked frozen. No one seemed to have noticed either, and it caused Spy to sigh to himself.

"Pour l`amour de Dieu." he growled to himself as he stood from his seat, wrestling his suit jacket off of him awkwardly.

"Whatever happened to being a gentleman?" the mercenary asked himself as he sauntered over, pulling his jacket open by the shoulders before placing it over Ms. Pauling's own. She seemed almost startled by the sudden sensation, looking up to find Spy slightly smiling down at her.

"You seemed cold." he commented as the woman pulled the jacket tighter around her, letting out a small shiver as she did so.

"And you won't be?"

"Do not worry about me, ma chérie," he said as he went back to his own seat, hands in his pockets and smile gone from his face. "my well being is not of my concern."

As he sat, he saw Medic out of the corner of his eye, looking at him over the rims of his circular glasses. He had stopped writing and Spy knew he had a brow raised, as if wondering why Spy did what he had just done.

The assassin re-opened his almost finished book, but allowed himself a moment of eye contact between him and the doctor.

Medic was smiling at him.

And he returned it.


	5. Set Up

_**This is a really long chapter guys, I apologize.**_

* * *

><p>The last three hours of the trip were Hell. Actually, spending time with Satan sounded like a daydream compared to what had happened. The old bus' heating had gone out, leaving everyone more cold than they already were. Even Spy- who had the help of the hard whiskey- began to feel the bitter bite of the nighttime frost. Ms. Pauling had tried to return his suit jacket several times, but he refused each offer. He kept assuring her that he was fine.<p>

He made sure only to shiver when he _knew_ no one was looking.

Scout had begun talking in his sleep, as well. And what would normally be hilarious, was more sad than. He was having a nightmare about what BLU had done to him a week ago, and Engineer desperately tried to hush him to avoid waking a sleeping Soldier. Unfortunately his efforts had been in vain as the self-admitted WWII veteran started ranting on about how he was going to make the "BLU menace pay harshly".

Spy still had a headache from all the insufferable shouting.

Everyone was cold, tired, hungry, and irritated. Even Medic had put away his paperwork with an irritated gusto as the constant complaining, shivering, and growling of stomachs made trying to focus impossible. He tried his best the soothe the irritated nerves of his teammates, his own ire growing with each snap directed towards him. The doctor eventually gave up and sat back down, leaning his head against the window with a long, irritated sigh.

He'd have to ride it out with the rest of them.

Spy had gotten into a rather interesting conversation with the doctor, however. Spy wasn't a man of science, but he was able to keep up for the most part as his comrade explained the extent of his recent research. He was certain he'd be able to convince the Administrator to let him fix the Respawn System, but Spy wasn't so sure. She was a stubborn woman.

Time apparently flew as the two men were in deep conversation as the bus stopped and Ms. Pauling sighed in relief as they were finally there.

They made it to Double Cross in one peace, which was a relief to everyone.

Spy was the first off the bus, waiting at the opened bus doors as everyone sauntered off the vehicle in a less than graceful fashion. Scout had tripped over his own untied shoe lace and landed face first into the concrete, which Spy couldn't help but laugh at. His shoulder was hit hard as Medic passed him, giving him a look that told him to cease his laughter, but the Frenchman couldn't help himself.

The doctor helped the young lad to his feet, no serious damage other than a scrape on his chin and a bloodied nose. He was instructed to keep his head tilted upwards to slow the blood flow, Heavy waddling after them with Scout's luggage under his giant arms. Ms. Pauling had gotten off the bus last, taking Spy's hand as it was offered to her to keep her balance as she went down the narrow stairs.

She hooked her arm around his as he lead her into the building. He carried the woman's heavy suitcase in his other hand, not worrying about his own things until after she was inside.

"Have you talked to her yet?" she asked suddenly, making sure no one was within earshot.

"Non."

"Ben..."

Spy sighed. There was concern in the woman's voice, but there was no real need for it. He had the situation under perfect control.

"Do not worry yourself concerning me, Ms. Pauling. It's just a minor annoyance that will pass with time."

"If you say so..."

"I _know_ so. This is not the first threat I have received."

Which was true. Throughout his fourty-three years, he had received more threats of death than compliments of life. He had snuffed out the flame his enemies lit who had tried to end his life countless times over again, and had no qualms about doing so once more. Besides, death threats seemed practically moot now because of the Respawn System.

Which was broken.

Eh, details.

Spy held the door open for the young woman, Ms. Pauling offering a small, short bow as she entered the building. The merc had grabbed her hand and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it, the assistant's face turning a bright red colour. Spy noticed Scout from the corner of his eye, glaring at him as he held his bloody nose.

The Frenchman flashed a smirk at his colleague.

* * *

><p>Medic had rushed to the Med Bay with suitcases and bird cages under arms after he tended to Scout's nose. He would have Heavy bring whatever else he had later, but right now, the doctor had work that needed to be done.<p>

He allowed the suitcases under his arms to lazily fall to the ground as he walked into the white room, placing the bird cage gently onto his desk before opening it. His feathered friends flew straight out and made themselves at home around the boarders of the room. They cooed and chirped their happiness, glad to be out of their sixteen hour confinement. Archimedes, as to be expected, took his place on the good doctor's shoulder as he sauntered around his office, digging through each and every single one of his suitcases.

Medic found the file he had been working on and nearly threw it open on his desk, the old chair letting out a tired groan as it was sat on. The man had come so close to solving his problem, so close to finding a solution to his teammates' discomfort. Finding out exactly what went wrong and why. There was no stopping now.

Archimedes bounced happily between Medic's shoulders as the German's pencil scratched against the smudged and wearing paper. The dove slightly pecked at the back of the man's neck, telling him to fix his less-than-proper slumped posture. Medic mumbled, groaned, and sighed to himself as he worked, his pencil moving a mile a minute as he wrote, erased, and crossed out words, numbers, and equations.

With each equation he finished, he looked over it several times to make sure it was right- as one wrong number, one number not carried over, meant he would have to start all over-, mouthing the writings to himself as his fingers rubbed his temple. Just a few more, a little while longer, and he'd be done. He'd have proof to show that the system was not as perfect as it was originally believed to be.

Then, and only then, would he go to her. She'd listen to him.

She'd have to.

Helen was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

An almost heavy knock on the metal doors caused him to jump, attention snapping to the working world around him. Archimedes flew off his shoulders in its own shock, and it took a moment for Medic to realize that whomever had knocked was still there. And they wanted _in_.

"Ja?" his voice was unsteady, heart nearly pounding in his throat. How long had he been going over the math? Two more papers had been nearly thrown to the side of him, two more than he had started with. His pencil was sharpened to a pitiful stub, and the clock over the doors read 12:30. Had he really been focused for two hours?

What hit him the most was the sudden realization of how tired he was. He had barely slept for more than two hours every day for the past two weeks, four if he was lucky. Sleep was a distraction to him, and it only served to get in the way of his work. Cat naps here and there, slumped over his desk with his crossed arms as pillows, drooling over the worked he obsessed over, was all that he needed.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, someone had opened one of the heavy metal doors with a slight timidness. As if whomever was there was seriously considering turning around and booking it.

It was Scout, Medic saw over the rim of his glasses, who had came into view, eyes glued to the floor as he refused to look at the doctor directly. It was a well known fact that the Med Bay gave him the "heebie jeebies"- in the young merc's own words- and he would never come here willingly, no less on his own.

Something was wrong.

"H-hey, Doc...?"

"What is the matter?"

"I, uh..." Scout rubbed his still burned arms in nervousness, his posture still but stiff. "Well..."

"I don't have all day, Junge..."

"Okay, okay." breathed the young man. "Look, I'm done with this repressed memory crap. Thought I could get over what that French asshat did to me, but I can't!" his head snapped up, eyes now fixed on the doctor's. There was a desperate glint in his eyes and an almost fearful look about his features.

"It just keeps coming back to me, man, no matter how much I tell it to go away! It just won't stop!"

The young mercenary had gone frantic fast, his entire body shaking violently. His knuckles had turned white from gripping his arms too hard, and the red, irritated skin was also going white from the force being pushed into it. He continued on about his nightmares, about what was done to him, spewing details that he had left out when he was evaluated.

There were bags under his eyes, an indication of lack of sleep. Face red from dehydration and the tears that were now falling. Frame alarmingly more slender than it usually was. He wasn't eating properly. Or rather he couldn't

Medic rose steadily to his feet, eyes ever widening in his concern. He mentally kicked himself for not noticing just how serious the lad's condition was sooner, but he had to hand it to his colleague that he was better at hiding his emotions than originally thought. The doctor tried to calm the boy down with soft words and hand gestures as he slowly approached him, Scout shouting over and over that he _couldn't_ calm down. That the pain wouldn't go away.

Tears were still welling in his eyes, worse now than before, and it didn't take long for him to fall to his knees. Medic rushed over then, quickly kneeling down to his level and grabbing him by his shoulders. The mercenary screeched, shouted, and cried as he rambled on, ignoring Medic's futile attempts to calm him. The ruckus was upsetting the birds, but that wasn't the German's main focus right now. He was needed, and he wouldn't be distracted by anything.

"You need to listen to me- Scout, _listen_ to me!" Medic shook his comrade by their shoulders vigorously, not stopping until Scout looked at his face.

He only continued in his rant, though, paranoid that it was all going to happen again. That it was going to affect his performance on the battle field and the Administrator would have him killed or replaced. Oh God, what if she did worse than that? What if what the BLU Spy did to him was nothing compared to her own wrath?

What if she wiped his memory? He wouldn't remember why he was here, the promises he made in order to _get_ here. He would remember nothing, not his ma, his sisters, the promise he made to them. That couldn't happen. He couldn't let them down, he couldn't-

A hard hand swept across his face, forcing him silent. The grip returned to his shoulders, tighter this time, but not so much that it hurt. He looked at Medic, still kneeling to keep eye contact. The German doctor had a blank expression on his face, and the fire in his eyes seemed like they would burn into Scout's skull.

"_Stop_."

One word had never affected Scout so much before, and he couldn't tell if it left him with a positive or negative feeling. He listened, though, the doctor's voice smooth and void of anything but sincerity.

"Nothing is going to happen to you, mein freund. The Administrator will not kill you, she will not wipe your memory, you will not forget your family, you will be _fine_."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. That is my promise to you, Scout." Medic said, slowly bringing the man to his feet. "I will not let any of that happen to you, ja?"

Scout nodded quickly, wiping his wet face dry with the palm of his hand. Medic offered him a firm, reassuring pat on the shoulder along with a smile, Scout trying his best to return the expression.

As Medic let go of the distressed mercenary and went to find something to calm him into sleep, he pretended not to hear the sound of a cloaking device activating behind the cracked open door.

* * *

><p>Spy knew exactly what was done to Scout and how it was done as soon as the word "French" came out of the boy's mouth. He knew his counterpart had been trained by the same organization, knew the same tactics, and the same basic procedures concerning torture. However, he could only imagine the mind games the BLU Spy must have played with Scout. Every man worked differently.<p>

And BLU worked in a way that did not match up with Spy's own tactics. A way that even made the Frenchman uncomfortable.

Spy knew the how, but he didn't the _why_. There was nothing in the fine rules of this war that forbade the use of torture, but it was more of an unspoken rule. BLU had broken that rule, and Spy had intended to figure out why. And why they had used Scout of all people.

Sneaking past the paroling Soldier was easy enough, his cloak doing more than enough to hide him from the human guard dog. The man suddenly stopped his pacing, Spy stopping in his tracks as well, a silence filling the room as the Frenchman held his breath. The veteran tilted his head up, sniffing the air as if he could smell what was around him. Spy had to sniffle a snort as Soldier continued his pace, and his sniffing.

After sauntering past his comrade, he allowed the cloak to fade, the device recharging as he stepped outside. The air was crisp and surprisingly fresh, not yet soiled by the lingering smell of gunpowder that would plague it tomorrow morning.

The Frenchman allowed himself a moment to appreciate the momentary silence, nodding at the BLU Sniper as he sat in his perch, a cigarette in his hand. The marksman returned the gesture with a half-assed salute. They would both be trying to kill each other in the matter of about six hours, but there was no harm in enjoying the ceasefire. Although it did mean Spy would have to wait to put his plan into action, so he figured it wouldn't hurt to light a cigarette of his own.

He leaned against the RED base, one foot against the brick wall as the other stayed firm on the ground to balance him. He took a long, satisfying drag as he watched the enemy sniper pack up to go back inside. The smoke filtered out his nose, eyes closing as if inhaling the vapor was more satisfying than it should have been. There was six hours left until wake up call. Six hours before breakfast, showers, and eventual preparation for battle. It was Intelligence they were after this time around, both briefcases thick with incriminating information that could break the both of them.

And always, they was ripe for the picking.

Spy opened his eyes again and tilted his head all the way back against the wall, watching as the white vapor poured out of his mouth. It was rare when he felt as relaxed as he did in this moment, because in this line of work, relaxed gets you dead. He still had a pleasant buzz from the whiskey he finished off while unpacking about an hour before, allowing his mind to be surprisingly clear.

When he looked up again he noticed that the sniper had gone and Spy's window of opportunity was now wide open. He took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and snuffing it out with his shoe. The Frenchman pushed himself off the wall and began his stride to the enemy base, once again activating his cloak as he did so, leaving more of a smoke effect as he exhaled the last bit of vapor out of his nose.

Getting into the adjoining base was easy enough, as it was built almost identical to RED's, only mirrored. It took a moment for Spy to realize where everything was and made for the specialized quarters made for each of the mercenaries. Each of them were spaced apart in a long, narrow corridor. Each door was put away from each other by a few feet, all of them branded with an engraving showing the symbol of each class. It wasn't hard to find his counterpart's. Where his was at the end of the hall, BLU's was at the beginning.

The door was slightly ajar, dim light from a lamp filtering out of the crack. Spy mouthed _"Merde"_ as he opened the door slowly enough to allow himself to slip through, a creak following the action. The other mercenary had his back turned and seemed blissfully unaware that someone else now occupied the same space as him. Not until the light was flicked off, anyway.

It took the metallic cling of an opening balisong to get him to react, but he had noticed far too late. A forearm pressed against his throat along with the knife and a knee slammed into the back of his own, making his stance weak and vulnerable. He grunted and growled as his assailant uncloaked himself.

"What are you doing?" hissed the younger spy. "We're under- ach- a momentary ceasefire!"

"I am aware, but I have questions." said Spy dryly, his voice low and quiet.

"And what makes you think I'll answer them, connard?" BLU had then received a sharp kneed to the base of his spine, swearing in hushed tones.

"No need for the language, child." sighed Spy, a grating tone to his voice. "They are simple questions that are easy enough to answer. Even for someone with as little intellect as your own."

The other swore more viciously before feeling another sharp pain, worse than before. Spy went on with asking his questions in fluent French, a distinct growl in his voice as he spoke. It was something always apparent when he spoke in his native tongue, and he's been told there was a certain allure to it. Right now however, he made sure it was more intimidating than stimulating.

The other spy complied to each inquiry after a bit was pain was needed to be inflicted to either his spine or throat. Spy asked him why he had done what he did to RED's Scout, what information he was seeking and _why_ he chose Scout over all people.

His counterpart explained that Blutarch wanted something that only RED had, that he entrusted the BLU Spy to gather such information. He admitted that taking Scout above someone like Sniper or Engineer was a lapse in his judgment, but it was all he had to work with at the time being. BLU had made their Pyro try to scare him into talking, but it had gotten too excited and burned the boy horridly.

Spy grimaced and explained that he was well aware of that detail, purposely twisting the other man's arm that was held behind his back. They tried wrenching away but the older Spy's grip was far superior to his own. The Frenchman continued his questioning, ignoring the complaints of numbness from his captive. The questions ranged from how they caught the fleet-footed young man, what exactly their Pyro did to him, to what Blutarch's sudden interest was.

The last question was what the BLU Spy refused to answer no matter how much pain was caused to him. This was a slight annoyance to Spy, but it did not matter much. The last question was more curiosity than confusion.

"It lead to nothing, though." said BLU, suddenly switching back to English.

"Oh?"

"The boy insisted that he knew nothing, and after the tears started, I began to believe he was right."

"And so you shot him like a dog?"

"Is there really any better way with you lot?" snapped the other Spy. "You all could outlive cockroaches."

Spy laughed at that comment, and the words his counterpart tried to speak next turned to a short scream as the side of their knee was kicked in hard. A sickening pop was heard as his leg buckled out from under him, the younger mercenary falling to the floor with only one good knee to balance him. He felt a gun held to the back of his head, his RED counterpart holding the Ambassador to him execution style.

"You _wouldn't_." challenged BLU.

Spy pulled the trigger.

"I would."


	6. Exposed

_**Another long chapter, ho!**_

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_The enemy has taken our Intelligence!" _

The Administrator's screech was almost desperate and panicked as BLU's Scout had somehow ran past RED's Engineer's sentry and nabbed the briefcase in the process. He cheered and howled with eagerness, firing buckshell into the face of RED's Heavy, the giant falling with a pained shout.

There was a BLU Soldier following the Scout, sticking close but not firing once. The young mercenary assumed he didn't find it necessary, that they would only get involved if it got too heavy. Which it didn't, as the boy was boasting about oh so loudly. He did find it odd that the soldier was sticking far closer than was needed, inching ever closer whenever he got the chance. The scout decided to ignore it for now, however, as he had a job that needed to be done. His loud and obnoxious cheers continued as he made a beeline for their base to place the stolen Intelligence

It was that eagerness that was his downfall, and his ignorance led to lack of attention and eventually cornered himself. He had merely laughed at himself and turned around, but Spy was standing right there behind him with a grin on his lips and balisong in his hand.

The young man's gurgled scream was like music to the Frenchman's ears as he drove the knife into the base of the other mercenary's throat. The look of pure terror and pain before being taken by the Respawn System was something that Spy couldn't stop grinning at as he picked up their Intelligence. The Administrator chimed a praise as Spy sauntered back to the base, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and flicking the ash onto the ground.

He kept aware of his surroundings, however, as he _knew_ someone from BLU would come looking for him. _Hunting_ him as they were desperate to grasp this second victory against their enemy. It was dangerous, potentially painful, fatal, and stupid.

But that's what made it _fun_.

As he sauntered outside his ears were greeted by the sounds of heavy gunfire, explosions, shouts, cries, and screams.

Just another Friday, really.

A bullet flew over his head and hit the wall right above him, ducking down immediately to avoid being hit by the second shot. Spy noticed Medic taking cover behind a rather large boulder, a shortness to his breath that suggested he had been running for an extensive amount of time. He had the Crusader's Crossbow held up against his shoulder and the Übersaw in the other hand, the blade dripping with blood that obviously was not his own. The doctor leaned his head back against the rock as he struggled to regain his breath and Spy almost winced at the sight of the crossbow.

He was not unfamiliar to being healed by that same instrument of murder when the German paramedic had been pissed off, and he rubbed a certain spot on his shoulder where Medic had once nailed him as if it was still sore. Medic had done this to all of the mercenaries that irritated him during battle, but Spy had- unfortunately- received the butt end of _that_ particular stick.

"Getting tired, Docteur?" asked Spy as he took cover next to his comrade, a coy smile on his lips. Medic returned the expression with a grin and chuckled almost to himself as he strapped the saw back to his belt and reloaded the crossbow.

"Nein," he stated, suddenly pushing Spy against the rock with his free arm and firing a bolt into what seemed like thin air. He had hit his mark, however, and the BLU Spy fell uncloaking to the ground with a bolt between his eyes.

"I'm just getting started."

Spy let out a rather audible laugh as he and the doctor left their respectable cover when they deemed it safe to do so. They both heard the steady chirp of the Engineer's sentry as they came into the base, turning towards the two mercenaries with a vicious beep before recognizing them as friendlies. The turret returned to everlastingly swayimg back and forth as it looked for someone brave enough to try and steal the Intelligence again, and Spy returned the briefcase to its rightful spot.

He then heard the familiar hum of a working Medigun, then felt a pleasant warmth wash over him. A red glow was left even after Medic had stopped the healing process. Despite the fact that it felt wonderful, he looked at the man with an eyebrow raised, and Medic sighed.

"You had a bullet in your shoulder."

"Oh?" Spy looked surprised, craning his neck to glance at his now-healed shoulder, a tear in his suit where the wound should have been. "I hadn't even noticed."

Medic rolled his eyes. "Dummkopf."

From the Rancho Relaxo on the top of the stairs, the Engineer laughed at the glare Spy shot at the doctor for insulting him, then they all turned their heads to listen as the Administrator announced there was still an hour left to the battle. Medic and Spy exchanged a nod and the Frenchman cloaked as he ran back into the battle field and the doctor once again held his crossbow in his hands.

* * *

><p>There was one thing he couldn't get out of his head since that night. That one thing said to him that he couldn't get over. It had been said so much in his head it didn't even sound like a word anymore. Didn't sound like a name, even. Was it truth? Lie? The possibility of either ate at him far more than it should have, but he felt as if he was told vital information he wasn't supposed to know about that day.<p>

"Now, Doktor!"

He shouldn't have been so focused on it. So obsessed. So desperate to know more.

"Doktor!"

So much that man knew about them, but what was known about _him_? Masked, armed, dangerous. Sadistic, condescending, bitter. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, and Medic knew it, and he knew the Frenchman had spent hours of his time cramming over each and every single one of his colleagues' files to learn everything about them that he could. Medic even tried finding _his_ file, but it wasn't there. There were only eight files and the assassin's was no where to be seen.

Fitting, seeing how the man's job was to disappear regularly and make the other team's life a living, breathing, invisible Hell.

But that night, he had reveled his name to the doctor holding him down while he was in a sort of nightmarish lucid dream. He had shouted it aloud out of fear of something done to him so long ago. Why then? Why dream about it right at that moment? Why tell it to the one restraining you and hurting you because they were becoming impatient, no less?

So many whys. Not one because in the open, however.

"_DOKTOR!_"

Medic nearly jumped out of his skin at the roar of the now irritated Heavy, whipping around to face the Russian giant.

"Ja?"

"Activate Charge, Doktor! To put end to little baby sentry."

Medic snapped back into battle mode and allowed a fierce expression to crawl onto his face. He hoisted his Medigun up and pointed it at his comrade and flicked on a certain switch.

"Of course!"

The rush of power, energy, adrenaline. It was like the hit of a drug, the high hitting Medic like a ton of bricks as his heart pounded. Blood rushed, body shaking, head throbbing, teeth pressed so tight together they could shatter. From his throat he let out a menacing and terrible laughter that struck fear into that of the BLU team and his own, the brute in front of him raving about being bullet proof. BLU tried desperately to put an end to it, but it was impossible. Their bullets, rockets, bombs, and blades did nothing. With their sentry gone and engineer nothing more than human Swiss cheese, they tried retreating.

Most of them were mowed down, helpless to change their fates as bullets larger than most of their pointer fingers ripped through their bodies painfully and messily, their screams dying on their lips.

Complete control over life and death, unable to die, to be hurt, to feel pain.

They were gods.

Scout had grabbed the now unguarded Intelligence, laughing with glee as he charged uninterrupted by gunfire back to the RED base.

Even after the Übercharge was gone, the high was not, and Medic could not wipe off the disturbing grin that had made its way to his face. Nor did he _want_ to. Outside, he had noticed his counterpart rushing towards their position with their own Medigun drawn, the intention of helping his overwhelmed teammates clear by the stern look on his face.

Their look of determination twisted into one of fear when he saw his double stride out of the small building with blood all over him and a maniacal, murderous gleam about his features. The crack of lightning and the roar of thunder as it tore through the sky was fitting and began pouring as a result.

Medic had charged at the other, BLU being quick in his reflexes and putting up his own saw in time to clash with his enemy's. Their bonesaw was made basic by RED's Übersaw, and the glow that resonated from the weapon shone onto the other doctor's face. Some from RED had stayed behind to watch what was unfolding, Demoman cheering their medic on obnoxiously.

BLU growled and hissed as RED grinned and laughed madly. The blades lost contact, sparks flying into the air as they skid off one another, BLU charging back in with determination, shouting as RED merely sidestepped to avoid the attack.

His movements were almost graceful, dodging almost everything thrown at him, but he did receive a large gash on his right cheek and above his eye. BLU eventually went in with his fists, nailing his counterpart hard in the jaw, RED stumbling back while holding his mouth. The impact caused teeth to scrape against his tongue, cutting it open. The taste of blood had only served to awaken Medic's high all the more, the doctor lunging towards the other.

They slammed hard against the now muddy ground, RED on top of BLU, both men dirtying their uniforms as they both struggled furiously. RED lifted the Übersaw and BLU responded by clutching onto the wrist that held it, desperately trying to push it back away from him. BLU drove their knee hard into RED's ribcage, the enemy doctor's grin twisting to a pained and ire filled frown. RED grasped onto the hair on BLU's head and pulled back, their head being forced further to the ground.

BLU's free hand went to RED's throat, clutching as tight as they possibly could. It barely effected his enemy it seemed, as the murderous glint in his eyes did now waver in the slightest. RED pulled further back, BLU clutching tigher, RED forcing the saw closer. Curses and swears in harsh German were spat, along with threats and promises of regret.

BLU's taunts were cut short, literally, as the Übersaw pierced through his uniform and into his chest. He stared into nothingness with wide eyes, hands letting go of what they were holding onto and falling limp to his sides. Their breathing was harsh and shallow, a wet gurgle following every inhale. Medic forced the saw deeper, BLU letting out a violent cough that spewed blood onto the face of his counterpart.

They let out one last, desperate breath before they went still, eyes rolling back into their head. Medic stood dirty and bloody, harshly ripping the saw out of his enemy's chest. He barely had time to wipe the blood off of the blade before they heard the Administrator shout over the loudspeakers.

They had captured BLU's Intelligence

* * *

><p>Everyone knew that Spy would be having a field day with the "goods" they captured, ripping open the briefcase like a rabid child on Sissmass. It might as well have been the special holiday due to the exceedingly rowdy dinning hall tonight. Everyone was laughing and chatting and stuffing their faces with Southern comfort food prepared by Engineer. Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, grits, and pork chops had everyone almost drooling with anticipation while it was being made.<p>

Throughout all of the noise, Scout's gloating had been the loudest of it all. However, in all honesty he had deserved his five minutes of fame. With BLU's Intelligence strapped to his back, he had mowed down his freshly respawned counterpart, danced around sticky bombs placed around him by BLU's Demoman, and escaped the hellfire doom that was the enemy Pyro's flame.

Spy had even given him a pat on the back and a job well done, Scout grinning back at him idiotically. The young mercenary had stated several times in the past that he despised the Frenchman and didn't need his approval. However, everyone saw how he lit up at the compliment given to him by the man he claimed to hate.

Scout was now telling the tale of his heroic scuffle for the third time as Heavy requested, the giant almost straining himself with laughter after Scout told of how his counterpart begged mercy. Demoman slung a weighted arm around the boy's shoulders, hollering something in drunken slurs before taking a heavy drink of liquor. Scout didn't understand what was said to him, but it faded his prideful grin none.

"Will we be seein' you at Movie Night?" asked Engineer, who was sitting right across from Spy. "Or do 'ya plan on locking yourself away with that there briefcase." He pointed with his fork at the Intelligence sitting just feet away in the other room. The man in front of him was prodding slightly at his helping of mac and cheese, Engineer knowing not to become offended. He'd never seen the man eat more than half of a plate of anything.

Nevertheless, the Frenchman let out a small laugh and looked at his Southern colleague, a friendly smile on his lips.

"You know me well, labourer." he said, then narrowing his eyes. "Perhaps _too_ well." His voice had suddenly gone dark, and Engineer returned the glare with one of his own. The other man's was slightly more intimidating, seeing how he no longer had his iconic goggles on, his blue eyes staring right into Spy's.

After a moment, the both of them began laughing, Engineer slapping his leg for emphasis.

"Non, I shall not be present tonight," started Spy, looking back down at the food he still hadn't finished. "I'll be far too busy."

"Shame," said Engineer unexpectedly. "Guess we're gonna have to miss out on the latest movie critique from our favorite French assassin." he teased.

Spy let out a small scoff as he forced another forkful of food into his mouth, chewing slow as the Texan in front of him slightly smiled as he returned to his own meal. Spy's thoughts returned to the briefcase in the meantime and what information could have been inside of it. What he was going to find out about the other team. No doubt the Administrator had noticed the briefcase was not in her office as it should have been, and she would want the information Spy found. If she didn't try to stop him before he _did_ learn, however.

Everything was quiet, though, so he assumed he was in the clear.

For now.

* * *

><p>A click of a lock, flash of a light, and the slip of a balaclava. Gloves would stay on for this particular internal assignment to avoid unlawful fingerprinting. The small, dank, dark and damp room would be his sanctuary for the next several hours as he poured through years and years of different texts, scrips, ledgers, and charts. Several hours of going over information he more than likely did <em>not<em> have the proper classification to be reading. Several hours of nearly drooling over something that was bound to be_ leagues_ more interesting than that dreadful book he read during the bus ride.

He had a mug of Earl Grey tea sitting next to him that had been my prepared by Sniper for the purpose of something to drink during the movies. No one had been cross with him for taking a mug before shoving off, though, and he sipped from it frequently as he sifted through files that didn't interest him. Future battle plans, names and origins of the BLU team, records of victories and failures, and payment documents were carelessly thrown to the side as he had no interest in them. He was looking for something meaningful. Something specific and worth his time and patience, something worthwhile to tell the Administrator when she called him into her office the following day.

His hands swept through several papers and files, trying to find something that caught his eye, growling in annoyance when he was getting nowhere fast. Spy swore in French, English, and every language he knew in between as he tossed file after file away from him, each file thrown with more annoyance as time progressed. His eyes read over the title of something he thought to be moderately interesting, the file reading "_Important Progress Dates Involving Weapon Upgrades_" along with a clusterfuck of random dates, times, and signatures lined everywhere to show who this belong to.

This was the BLU Engineer's notes. And he had been planning to convince his superiors to allow him a small shipment of Australium to infuse with his teammates' weapons. He had been denied with every request he made, and they eventually stopped responding altogether after what Spy could assume was the 50th plead. Instead he had tried, unsuccessfully, to infuse the weapons with something else that would have caused the same effect, only less powerful and effective as they would have been with Australium.

Losing it's value, Spy tossed that file away along with all the others he went through.

BLU's Medic was around the same age as RED's, if not a few years younger, but he certainly wasn't as experienced. His notes were messy, thrown together, scribbled and whited out, and didn't make a lick of sense even though they were in almost perfect English. Apparently he tried an experiment on one of his teammates, their Demoman to be exact, to see if he could successfully hold an Übercharge and keep the charge even long after the Medigun was no longer pointed at him.

It had gone wrong, apparently. Incredibly so, by the looks of the notes.

_"__Unfortunately the procedure had gone terribly wrong, and I left the man with a terrible limp in his right leg. Fortunately, he was word-slurring drunk and didn't feel anything, and I managed to convince him he fell down some stairs in a drunken stupor. Which isn't entirely false. Not after I pushed him, at least."_

Spy shook his head in disappointment as he closed the file and put it into the pile with the rest of the rejects. He could hear their medic in his head saying "Tch, amateur." and it made the assassin smirk slightly.

Then finally, just as the Frenchman was about to give up and shove the whole damn briefcase away from him in frustration, he found something that made him go through it with more enthusiasm than the others. The papers contained inside where ledgers of BLU's base activity over the course of the month, files including Scout's torture session and the _exact_ orders Blutarch have to Spy's counterpart. The Mann brother apparently wanted information on Helen, the Administrator, and about who she was really working for.

What the hell did he mean by _that?_ She worked for Redmond, which Spy thought was obvious, and the decrypted old man had somehow gotten into his head that she was instead working for BLU instead. Though, if he wanted answers from _her_, why have his spy go after Scout? Or any of the mercenaries, for that matter, instead of the woman herself?

_"__She also has information on a RED mercenary that I need. A mercenary with a bounty on his head. A bounty that could finally fund my project enough to get it onto its feet."_

Project? What project? And what mercenary on RED worth their salt _didn't_ have a bounty on their head?

Oh how it infuriated Spy the number of new questions he had. He had originally thought that this information would quell his curiosities, not add to them.

But there was one more file he hadn't checked, one more he hadn't even looked at. He threw the current one aside and looked at the last one with wide eyes, picking it up with now shaking, unsteady hands. The thing was relatively new, coloured black instead of a file's usual pale gold, no noticeable marks on it that would assure that it had been handled, and it was thin. As if to suggest there was barely anything inside.

However, that's not what caught Spy's attention. It was his organization's insignia plastered gold on the front that had him off guard. Inside, is what made him stop near dead. He had opened it slowly, as if worried that opening it too fast would cause something catastrophic to happen. No matter how slowly he opened it, though, would not have prepared him for what lay inside waiting for him to see.

His heart plummeted to his feet, eyes ever widening as he saw just what was inside the folder.

Pictures. Many of them.

Of him.

Without his mask and with it on.

Pictures and documents all related to him and who he was. They had even put his name out on display. His _full_ name, along with his cover name.

_"__Benoît Oliver Pérrin; AKA: Vincent Crussla. 43. Mercenary hired by Team Fortress Industries as a foot soldier for the Mann Brother's territorial war. _

_**Deserter**_._"_

"Oh merde..." Spy whispered to himself. "Shit, shit, _shit._" he continued as his hand went to his forehead, rubbing it intently as sweat formed at his brow. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he read, biting his lip as panic started to set in. As he read, he learned that he had been "followed" for six out of the eight years he's worked here, watched, and kept notes on.

By none other than the BLU Spy.

Spy was being spied on.

From a member of his own organization, to be exact, no doubt here to turn him in and have him killed.

The Frenchman lept from his chair suddenly, the file, _his_ file, in hand. The swift movement caused the desk to shift hard, the tea being knocked over and spilled onto the floor. Spy took the wastebasket that sat next to his nightstand and flung the file into it, ripping open one of the nightstand's drawer to pull out a small matchbook.

He ripped one of the sticks off and struck it against the strip of red material and dropped it into the wastebasket, breathing in shuddered breaths as he watched the file burn.

Both hands were too his forehead now, and panic had set in completely. What else was known about him? Did his counterpart know _exactly_ why he was here? Why he had left his previous organization in the first place? That he was doomed to die when he damn well wasn't ready?

No. He doubted that. He was never given that kind of information for his contracts, so he doubted it would have been any different for the other spy.

Nonetheless, this was bad. _Really_ bad. He turned quickly on his heel at this realization and went to the desk, stuffing all of the files he had taken out back into the briefcase with absolutely no sense of order and slammed it closed. After locking it, he grabbed his balaclava and put it back on messily, allowing the small fire to continue to burn as he bolted out of his room with Intelligence in hand.

Spy cared not that his comrades saw him rush by, sprinting as if chased by something, enemy Intelligence in hand, and mask crooked as if he had gotten into a fight. He heard their confused chatter as he continued his sprint down the hall, ignoring what they might have thought.

The assassin's suede shoes screeched against the tile floor as he slid to a halt, rounding a sharp corner only to run again.

Spy's breath was beginning to falter and become heavy, his lungs burning as fatigue caught up to him slowly. There was no stopping though, he couldn't afford to, there was too much at stake. He would not stop until he made it to _her_ office. She needed to know. He was in danger. They were _all_ in danger.

Ms. Pauling nearly fainted from shock as Spy suddenly burst through the doors into the office, quickly being restrained by two guards that stood watch. The briefcase fell to the floor and Ms. Pauling tentatively picked it up, backing away from the altercation with worry in her eyes. Spy struggled against the brutes' hold, ordering them to let him go, but they only held onto him tighter.

"Why are _you_ in _my_ office, Benoît?" said the woman by the large control panels, smoke coming off a lit cigarette held in a boney hand. Spy's name was said with venom and disdain, the woman's voice portraying her annoyance.

Spy started going off a mile a minute, spewing words and forming them together in a vain hope they made sense. He started with Blutarch's mention of a secret "project" the BLU team was working on, how they didn't have the funds to start it, but would once they collected the reward off a bounty. That bounty belonging to-

"I don't care, Spy. Get out." hissed the woman bitterly, not even bothering to turn around and face her mercenary.

Spy continued his frantic shouting, desperately trying to wrench himself away from the hold that keep him in place. The guards were now attempting to throw him out of the office, his struggling becoming more aggressive as his shouts turned into near pleading screams.

He begged her to listen, that it was of the utmost importance. She wouldn't hear it, though, and she flicked her hand to tell her guards to be rid of the man causing so much fuss. One of the men even tried putting a hand over Spy's mouth to silence him.

So he bit them.

_Hard_.

They let go with a yelp of pain, doubling over to craddle their now violated hand. Spy was finally able to pry himself away from the other guard but was quickly grabbed by the arm. He kicked and scratched and howled, the Administrator now shaking with rage.

"Benoît, _LEAVE-" _

"They know who I am!" he finally cried.

Silence.

The room was suddenly quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Helen _finally_ turned her chair around, a low burning cigarette perched between her nicotine stained fingers.

"_What?_"


	7. Recruited

_**TRIGGER WARNING FOR ANYONE WHO HAS SELF-HARMED.**_

_**Seriously, it gets heavy. If you're uncomfortable with reading that, then skip the chapter and message me. I will give you a chapter summary. **_

* * *

><p>Medic's heart dropped to his feet, pressing his ear harder against the wall to listen further. Spy started explaining in depth what exactly Blutarch was planning, and how he planed to fund the project with the bounty he'd collect from capturing the Frenchman. The files did not explain what this mysterious project was, but something he and the Administrator could agree on was that it wasn't good, whatever it was. Medic didn't like the sound of it either.<p>

"What did you do with the file they had of you?" asked the Administrator after a moment of uncomfortable and tense silence.

"I panicked and burned it." Spy replied, finally starting to calm down. His voice was still slightly shaky.

The Administrator sighed, almost as if relieved and swiveled her chair back around to face the many monitors and control panel. A click of a lighter was heard, and Spy automatically assumed that she lit another cigarette. She smoked more than he did, which was slightly concerning. But she had never wanted to hear it whenever he or someone else brought it up, and she dismissed them with a rude wave of her hand or with an even more rude gesture involving her middle finger.

"Better that than being back in Blutarch's hands." she spoke up again, smoke snaking its way around her.

Spy nodded.

"So now what?" he had asked, straitening his posture back into something more professional.

The Administrator was silent, the only noise from her being the inhale and exhale of cancerous vapor. Spy flashed an uneasy look at Ms. Pauling, who returned it with a worried look of her own. They looked back towards the purple-suited woman as she turned around once more, her eyes focused on Spy.

She looked tired.

"I don't know." she said with hesitation. "It all depends on whether or not Blutarch has seen that file yet, so we'll have to wait and see." She took another drag off of her cigarette, never breaking eye contact with the man in front of her.

"Just lay low for now, Ben." her voice was genuine, as if she actually worried for the safety of her mercenary.

"And watch your back."

* * *

><p>"You want me to do what?" Medic asked, a brow farrowed.<p>

The woman on the monitor's screen flicked ash from a freshly lit cigarette into an ashtray. Staring the doctor straight in the eyes. She looked for from amused and unwilling to carry on this conversation, and to entertain the idea that Medic didn't know what she was talking about.

"You heard me." she growled. "This is not a matter to take lightly, doctor, and I'm trusting you to do as you're told."

"I would love to help you, liebling, but I am not at all familiar with the situation-"

"Do _not_ play stupid with me, _Klaus_." the Administrator hissed, a snarl on her lips. "I am in no mood."

Medic almost flinched at the usage of his name, the sound of it almost foreign to his ears. He had honestly almost forgotten about it. A decade of going by "Medic", and he had almost forgotten his own name. So that's how he know this was actually serious. She wouldn't have used that name, _his_ name, unless she was panicked.

And the fact she was nervous was enough to tell him things were getting dangerous.

Nevertheless, the doctor straitened his stance, folded his arms behind his back, and raised his head in attention.

"Tell me what I have to do."

A smile twitched at the corner of the Administrator's mouth, gone as soon as it appeared, and she explained her intentions. Medic was told the constant danger Spy would now be in, and how dangerous this would be for the others as well. If the Frenchman's organization knew where Spy was, they would stop at nothing to find him. Even if that meant questioning his colleagues.

Medic winced at the type of "questioning" that man's old organization would preform.

The German's job was to make sure nothing happened to Spy, and that _no one_ else knew of the situation. Not Heavy, not Engineer, not Sniper. No one. She referred to them by name, _real_ names, rather than their profession. This was important, vital even. This has now been proven twice.

Medic was told to keep a close eye on his comrade, keeping tabs on wherever he was or whatever he was doing. Also to make sure the BLU Spy came nowhere near the base during Ceasefire. He was told to repeat his orders and he did so to the letter, which the Administrator seemed pleased with. Good, that meant he was listening. She hummed her approval and told the doctor he was dismissed.

"Oh, and Medic;" the Administrator started again, the man craning his head around his shoulder to look at her after he had turned around.

"Ja?"

"Eavesdrop on my conversations again and I will have you killed." and with that, the monitor went black. Medic chuckled to himself as he left the room, pulling down his waistcoat to flatten it.

"No you won't."

* * *

><p>He had checked several times to be sure. Spy was sound asleep in his own room, and actually <em>sleeping<em>. He checked that, too. Breath was shallow and heavy, eyes moving around rapidly behind the lids. REM sleep. He had been "dead to the world" -a phrase from Scout- for at least an hour. This was good. He was safe for now.

Medic had Soldier march around the perimeter once more, to make absolute _sure_ everything and everyone was where they needed to be, and nothing was there that shouldn't be. The veteran was told that BLU wanted their Intelligence back and would cross Ceasefire to get it. This wasn't entirely false, but it wasn't exactly the whole truth either.

It hadn't even crossed his mind to ask the Administrator about the Respawn System. He was too preoccupied with what he had just learned. There was another time for that, Medic supposed, but he couldn't keep putting it off. The longer he did, the worse the machine was going to get.

At the moment though, the main thing on Medic's mind was the Frenchman's reaction to learning he had been compromised. The man had been frantic, panicked, desperate. The doctor had never seen that man, who was normally so aloof, so uncaring, act in such a way. It was something that tugged at him heavily.

It wasn't the same panic he felt while he was under Medic's care just a week before, replaying a past horror in some sort of semi-lucid dream. It was a panic the German knew well.

Spy was afraid.

However, it would have to be placed into the back of Medic's mind for now. He still had work to be done, and seeing how he had nothing tying him down for the rest of the night, now would be a good time to finish what he started. Spy was asleep, and the lack of gunfire and screaming meant his counterpart was keeping his distance for now.

Medic had done everything the Administrator had told him to do, so time was now his. It was the first weekend of the month now as well, the only two days the mercenaries had off. Two days of Ceasefire and "me-time". No obligations, no battle field responsibilities, hell, they didn't even need to _see_ each other until Monday if they didn't want to.

And that's what the doctor was fully intending to do, had he not been stuck with babysitting duties. But now everything was quiet and attended for, so any ordered responsibilities were null for the next few hours.

Medic bolted the large metal doors shut, pressing his back against it for a stint to reassure himself before charging over to his desk. The doves above him cooed happily, excited to see the man again after such a long day. After the doctor pulled a file out of his desk, he went over to the large cage that housed the birds regularly, filling a dish that hung at the side with a bag of feed that he kept near the enclosure. The feathered companions flew down and pecked graciously at the various seeds and pellets as Medic returned to his original motivation.

He lifted the Medigun to the holster above the operation table, the action being carried out with ease whereas others would struggle. Nine years of carrying the heavy machine around the different battlefields left his upper body rather toned and strong for a man his age. He was the oldest on this team -being the ripe age of 50- and was most likely the most fit as well. He could even surpass Spy on a good day.

Nevertheless, the doctor unbuttoned his long coat and tossed it onto the back of his office chair, his now bare arms feeling the room's slight cold bite. He would have to adjust the temperature later, but right now, it didn't bother him.

Medic began rummaging through the various different cabinets around the Infirmary, pulling out rather specific supplies. Empty syringes, scalpels, and rubber tubing. The doctor crossed over to the other side of the room, the supplies from the other cabinets in his mouth, vest pocket, and with the rubber tubing wrapped loosely around his arm.

Out of the medicine compartment on the wall, Medic grabbed vials of morphine, along with smaller vials of Sodium Thiopental and Potassium Chloride. It was a struggle to carry all of the materials in his arms, pockets, and mouth, but he eventually sauntered -less than gracefully- back over to the operation table. The contents of his soon-to-be experiment was scattered on the table and Medic flicked on the Medigun that now hung above his head. Its familiar and somewhat comforting hum rang throughout the room. Right mist was steadily pouring out of the machine's nozzle, the birds returned to the rafters above, and the doors was securely locked.

He was ready to begin.

Medic rolled up his left sleeve to halfway up his bicep and grabbed a scalpel from his pocket, taking in a breath before he spoke, repeating the title of the file in front of him.

"Capabilities Test; Run one: Minor Lacerations."

He cut into his arm with a wince, blood quickly oozing from the wound and pooling onto the table below. Medic nearly groaned aloud at the sting he felt as the wound continued to be exposed to the outside air, waiting for it to clot. Once it did so, he put his arm under the ray of the Medigun, the skin being sown back together without scar or blemish. The man never ceased to be amazed by the machine that was given to him all those years ago, so that was why it hurt him all the more to see it failing.

He _would_ find out why.

The other night he had stayed awake, unable to keep his eyes closed due to his terrible insomnia, and he had a debate with himself. Either he tell his teammates the situation of the Respawn System, along with the Medigun, and risk panic, or keep it to himself and carry the burden of researching this annoyance alone. Medic considered telling only Engineer, seeing how fixing technical problems and blueprinting improvements to several machines and networks they all relied on was the reason why he was hired.

Soldier was out of the question, he would only try to blow it up in an attempt to solve the problem. Pyro most likely wouldn't have been any help either. Medic couldn't understand a basic sentence the thing tried to form, so he doubted he would be able to understand a solution they might have had. Spy was a definite maybe, although not a man of science in any way Medic knew, he had help with a certain idea for a Medigun adjustment a year back.

But a simple lucky hunch was not enough to convince the German doctor to let him in on what was going on.

In the end, he decided on keeping it to himself. He, the Administrator, and Ms. Pauling would be the only ones to know about the system failure. They would be told eventually, at the right time.

And when Medic had the solution to the problem.

With another deep breath, Medic cut into his skin again. Worse this time, deeper, and he sucked in another breath through his teeth when he felt the blade cut into muscle. His arm trembled as a response to the pain, but it wasn't enough for the morphine. Not yet. That would come later.

He was _dreading_ this next part, but he had to do it. For research, for science, and for his teammates.

Placing the blade down, Medic took in a few short breaths and dug his finger into the open wound. He swore aloud as he ripped it further, craning his head down and making his body go completely tense. A short, pained scream slipped past his lips as he ripped more, the tear now going up further along his arm. He slammed his fist hard against the table, a loud metallic tang ringing throughout the room and startling the birds.

He threw his head back and grit his teeth hard together as he quickly thrust his arm under the Medigun. Medic breathed heavily and quickly, wincing one eye shut as the wound slowly and painfully closed. Already the Medigun was struggling, telling Medic that the situation was becoming worse, and he had noticed that it took longer to heal his teammates lately. Pain was left behind, by a greater amount than the first wound, but it still wasn't enough for morphine. He wouldn't waste it, not now, he could suffer through.

All tests involved self-mutilation to some degree, and he knew some would claim him to be absolutely insane for doing so to himself. It was all for the benefit of his team, however. A team he had foolishly allowed himself to grow attached to over the last nine years. He _needed_ to find the limit, to find just the Respawn System decided wasn't important enough to fix, same with the Medigun. Each Respawn took a second longer each battle, he also noticed. A second longer of leaving a control point, Intelligence, or anything in between all the more vulnerable. All the more dangerous.

_"__You're doing it for them,"_ he told himself in his head, distracting his focus to make the pain more tolerable. _"__They'll be thankful for it, in the end. Just be patient." _

He almost scoffed at himself. Patience. Something he had an abundance of given the current situation. With something like this, it was grating on that reserve, becoming growingly more frustrating as each day passed, each experiment.

Medic had to make the injuries more severe, more painful and life-threatening if he wanted this to go anywhere. Things would have to be broken, shattered, cut, torn, burned, and everything in between. He would be the one to do it. One by one until he had no feeling in his body anymore or it killed him and Respawn claimed him to preform a botched and underperformed job. Things would have to go much further than a small cut on his arm.

There was no more room for going easy on himself anymore. Things needed to progress, and they needed to do so _now_.

Medic grabbed his wrist, taking one last, deep breath and prepared for the snap.

* * *

><p>It was almost a blessing that they had the next two days off, else Spy would be falling asleep in the battlefield when the time came. His insomnia had gotten the better of him once again, jolting himself awake and leaving him to lay still in his bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes. He longed for them to close again. For his mind to shut down and allow him a peaceful night.<p>

But then again, that's what he longed for every night.

The man let out a sigh and raised his arm to rub the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked around as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness around him, the only light being that of the moonlight that pushed itself through the cracks of his the blinds on the windows.

"I can't have one night, can I?" he grumbled to himself in fluent French, allowing his body to drop back into the bed with a "fwoomf" sound. Spy gently rapped his knuckles against the wooden backboard of his bed, in a rhythm that could have either been from a song or just off the top of his head. It was something to listen to in the silence other than the ringing of his ears as he thought for a moment on what to do next.

"_Medic,_" he suddenly thought. _"__I can go to him." _

Surely the doctor would have some sort of pill that could knock Spy out and make him completely numb to the world. There had to be _something_, and Spy would take it despite his distaste for medication in that matter. But he was becoming frustrated with this charade. He had been getting no more than three hours of sleep a night for the past few weeks where his teammates were getting six or seven at the least.

It was the weekend, a weekend they had off. A weekend he would spend doing nothing but sleeping if his body would allow him to. He needed something that would make him sleep and _stay_ asleep. Normally, he would shy away from pills like one would shy away from an Übercharged Heavy, but he was becoming desperate.

With his new found goal set in mind, Spy hoisted himself onto his feet, letting out a hiss as his bare feet hit the cold tile below and sent a sharp pain up his back. The Frenchman swore softly to himself as he stumbled through the darkness of his room to the door, hand fumbling hopelessly until it found the door knob to turn it.

The hallways were just as dark and quiet as his room was, as he would expect them to be at four in the morning. Even Soldier had stopped his routine night rounds and retired for the night, his snores being heard loud and clear from behind his door. From the look of it, no one was out and about besides from Spy, so he wouldn't have to explain what he was doing up at such a time. His clothes were mainly black besides, so if anyone _were_ to come out into the open, their undulated eyes would have trouble picking him out of the darkness without looking close enough.

His bare feet hit against the tiled floors with a click after each step, the sound being amplified once he got to the Mess Hall. Perhaps he should have worn socks, but the man couldn't have been bothered at this point. He had already made it this far, it would be pointless and risky to turn back now.

As Spy expected, light was slipping through the cracks between the infirmary doors and under them, an indication that Medic was either awake or asleep at his desk, drooling on the various papers he had been writing on.

He knocked on the metal door, gently, with the back of his knuckles, quietly cooing "Docteur?" with a smooth voice. Spy didn't hear permission to enter, but no denial either. The doors were unsurprisingly locked, but the man pursed his lips in annoyance nonetheless.

The next knock was a bit more forced, his voice slightly more stern than before, but still received no answer. By his third ignored knock, he tossed his hands abruptly into the air with an irritated snort and turned to leave. He supposed he would have to think of something else to coax him into sleep. It was unfortunate, but not the end of the world.

Maybe if he hit his head against the wall hard enough-

A loud crash accompanied by an audible thunk and pained moan was enough to cause Spy to whirl back around and return to his attempt at getting the man to open the damn doors. His closed fist now slammed against the metal, his voice now demanding that the doctor answer him. A distressed cry made Spy start ramming his body against the doors in a vain hope to bust them open. His shoulders quickly began to ache because of this, but that was a problem for another time. The pained cries were enough to keep him focused on forcing his way through, and he wouldn't stop until he got his way.

Finally, after one last ram, the old locks gave way and Spy burst into the room. The sight that greeted him was horrendous and eye-widening. Shattered glass that was once full vials of unknown liquid were scattered on the floor around the operating table, one vial even leaking its still half full content onto the tile. Papers were thrown about, feathers from panicking birds everywhere, and a strange red substance was smeared on the metal table.

Wait.

Was that _blood_?

Spy looked up and saw that the doves were all huddled together and looking at him, their little bodies shaking in fear. No doubt whatever happened in here spooked them, and him forcing his way in helped none with their heightened anxieties. They were grooming each other and cooing softly in an attempt to calm each other down, and Spy almost felt bad for the wrenched things.

The Frenchman heard the almost comforting hum of the active Medigun, but the doctor was no where in sight. He walked further inside, calling for the other man as he avoided stepping on broken glass.

"Docteur?"

No response again, not even a soft moan. He tried calling for him again, louder this time as if he wasn't heard the first. A slight whimper sounded from behind the operation table and Spy circled around it to find the source. What he saw made his heart drop.

Medic was slummed in a position that was undoubtedly uncomfortable against the table, arms limp at his sides, and bleeding from several open wounds. Rubber tubing was tied tight around his bicep and an empty syringe was in his hand. His head was lolled down against his shoulder, half-lidded eyes staring at Spy as he knelt down in front of him. Medic was alarmingly pale and his body was cold.

The man looked half dead.

"Mon Dieu..." Spy gasped as he undid the knot made in the tubing to keep it against Medic's arm. Spy's fingers felt for a pulse on the doctor's neck as he tossed the tubing and needle away, the glass shattering as it made contact with the ground. He almost recoiled when Medic tried to suck in a shallow breath.

"Docteur?" said Spy once more, trying to get the man's attention by gently shaking him. "Docteur, look at me. Were you attacked?" Medic's weak eyes looked at him halfheartedly.

"N-nein..."

"No? Then what did this?"

"I... I did."

Spy's expression dropped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was-" Medic coughed, his body tensing and face scrunching into a pained wince. "-was experimenting."

"Experimenting _what_?" asked Spy, beginning to become annoyed. Who the hell in their _right_ fucking mind would willingly do this to themselves? Medic was a mad man, but Jesus Christ, Spy would have expected him to be better than _this_.

"The limits of respawning. I was testing it..."

"By mutilating yourself?"

Medic tried laughing, but it just sounded more pathetic than his voice. It just turned into another painful cough, this one stronger but hoarse. He winced again, and Spy moved back a bit.

"Why don't you just heal yourself?" he asked with an exhausted tone to his voice.

"The Medigun cannot help me. I am, quiet literally, dead to it." Medic tried explaining, his pathetic attempts at breathing turning into nothing but weak heaves and weases.

"So just end it and be done with it." Spy said, taking a seat on the floor next to the crumpled paramedic.

Medic shook his head weakly, mumbling something Spy couldn't understand, then went quiet save for his harsh breathing. The Frenchman pulled a knee up and rested his arm on it, leaning his head against the table. He let out a small sigh as he looked at nothing, realizing suddenly that he hadn't had a smoke since the battle, and he was becoming restless. Such a disgusting habit, it was, but damn it all if he could stop.

He raised his eyebrow when he realized Medic was staring at him.

"What?"

"You don't have to stay, you know."

"And let you die alone?"

"It isn't as if I will not come back..."

"That does not matter to me. Whatever the hell you did yourself, and I honestly do not _want_ to know at this point, obviously is not pleasant. I am not going to leave you like this." explained Spy, not even looking at the doctor.

Medic smiled slightly and closed his eyes.

"Danke."

"But you _are_ also an idiot."

It was quiet after that, the doctor's breathing becoming more and more weak as time passed. Spy's eyes trailed around the large room, the silence eating at him. He couldn't help but wonder what Medic did to himself that would cause the infirmary to be in such a state of disarray. The doves began hopping over to the two men, still staying in the rafters. Archimedes was the only one to fly down to them, perching himself on the shoulder of his dying master. Spy was only able to tell that that _was_ Archimedes by the bloodstain on the bird's breast that's been there since the day he popped out of Heavy's chest. Any other bird was anyone's guess, but Medic seemed to possess an uncanny ability to tell all of them apart in ways that were completely lost to Spy.

He remembered that day, though. The day that they all received that horrid device in their hearts to allow them to be Übercharged despite the fact that Spy's never experienced it. He placed his hand over the left side of his chest, feeling his own strong heartbeat within. He never needed to utilize the fact that he _could_ be charged, what would be the point? He was a man of cloak and dagger, not of brute strength and firepower like that of his other teammates.

Archimedes then hopped closer to Medic's face, nuzzling into the man's cheek with a pathetic coo. The thing seemed almost... sad. No doubt it wondered what had happened to its master, and Spy didn't have an answer for it. Medic was still, though, and his breathing either stopped or was extremely shallow.

"Docteur?" asked Spy quietly, gently shaking the doctor. There was nothing but silence as a response, however, and the assassin sighed to himself. Medic was dead, and now all there was left to do was wait for Respawn to kick in and do its job.

Spy found himself lightly hitting his head against the side of the table, his eyes blinking steadily into nothing. _God_ he needed a cigarette, this was all just so... Depressing. He wouldn't leave though, not yet. Not until he knew everything was okay.

Archimedes flew off Medic's shoulder suddenly as if startled, and the doctor began to steadily fade away in a sheet of binary code. Spy stood, brushing off the pieces of broken glass from off of his pants he was sitting on, and waited for the German doctor. Waited for him to walk back out into the open, grumbling about his failed experiment under his breath and thinking of new ways to run it again.

But the man never showed. The System hissed and hummed, so Spy knew Medic was back, good as new. He just wouldn't step back out into the open.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, Spy pursed his lips and stuffed his hands back into his sweatpants' pockets, making for the doors to leave. He avoided stepping on glass shards, near dancing around them as he crossed the room. The man stopped when he heard shuffling, turning around in hopes of the seeing the doctor behind him. But he wasn't, and Spy heaved one last, long sigh as he closed the dented doors as he left.

From the back of the room, Medic now stood in the doorway of the Respawn room, leaning against it as he watched his comrade leave. He merely shook his head as he started to ready himself for restless night's sleep.


	8. Down Time

_**This isn't a very long one, guys, I apologize. It was more a filler chapter that I wrote when my brain was cooperating with me and giving me tiny spits of Writer's Block. So... have the most intense chess game ever? My apologies if it's boring. The next chapter won't be, though. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
><strong>_

* * *

><p>"Boom," said Sniper after pulling the trigger to his beloved rifle. The bullet flew fast and clear across the clearing, nailing a bird and tearing it right out of the air.<p>

"Headshot."

"Nice shot." came a praise from a masked man behind him, cigarette perched in his gloved fingers.

"Thanks, mate." Sniper mumbled, almost to himself and with a small sense of pride. He lay his prized rifle against the wall and sat down. The bushman raised one knee and placed his forearm on it to rest, mirroring the exact position Spy was sitting in last night. A night he hadn't slept through at all, as his babysitting had distracted him from what he went down to the Med Bay for in the first place. Sleeping pills.

"Got a spare cig, spook?" asked Sniper, Spy nodding and tossing him a cigarette and his lighter. This was something they did almost every Saturday they had off. Find a spot on the base that was normally hard to reach to get away from everyone and relax. To watch the BLU team as they lived lives that were the very contrast to RED's. They smoked, talked, and relaxed. Scout had even made a smartass joke, referring to this time Spy and Sniper spent together as their "Make Out Sessions."

The only thing he had to show for his not-even-remotely-clever joke was a busted nose given to him by the hotheaded bushman.

Sniper tossed the zippo back towards his friend, taking a long, appreciative drag on the cigarette gifted to him. Spy stayed standing, one foot propped to the wall behind him as he leaned against it, free hand grasping the other arm's bicep.

"So," spoke the Frenchman,, breaking the silence between them. "do you plan on preforming some strange Australian ritual on the bird you shot down, or...?"

"Nah, I'm leavin' it there." Sniper retorted, ignoring the blatant culture insult directed at him. "Nice surprise for the BLU team later on."

Spy snorted, taking a drag of his own dwindling cigarette. His eyes trailed over the battle field, picturing the mayhem that went on just a day before. He glance at the spot where Medic had his scuffle with his BLU counterpart, the scene replaying in the assassin's head.

The mad doctor had a fire in his eyes that would make even Saxton Hale run the opposite direction with his tail between his legs, and Spy couldn't deny that it sent a chill up his own spine. There was no lack of that dangerous passion within the doctor that day, and that's what justified everyone's healthy fear of the man.

Still, there was a type of grace to Medic that no one could take away from his description. He practically danced out of the way of the clumsy attacks being thrown at him, and despite the fact that he was beat up a good deal, _he_ wasn't the one to end up with a saw in his chest.

The man was a monster.

But that's what made him _fascinating._

Spy then looked at the clearing below, particularly the area under the bridge. There was a railroad that lead to God-knows-where, spit down the middle of the alleyway. Two pathways breaking off at opposite ends that lead to the sewers. Those pipelines lead into each teams' base in a subbasement that usually smelled rotten. Spy knew the pipelines well, skulking through the entire length of both of them several times, waiting for some unsuspecting member of BLU to fall right into his trap.

Oh how their gasps of surprise right before choking on their own blood was like music to the assassin's ears.

It was where he spent most of his time, as the area on the bridge itself was normally teeming with sentry guns, overly zealous Russian beasts, and explosions. That wasn't Spy's forte. Sneaking, skulking, and stabbing, was.

And right in this very nest that he was standing in, Sniper held himself, taking headshots of any BLU member that was unfortunate enough to step into the man's sights. There was a large blood stain on the wall near Spy, and it was rather fresh. Dry, but fresh. And by the way the bushman kept glancing at it and growling slightly to himself each time he looked away, it was safe to assume it was _his_ blood. He must has been shot by his counterpart, who was just as skilled.

"I have a question for 'ya." Sniper piped up suddenly.

"Shoot." replied the Frenchman, ignoring his unintentional pun.

"The other night you were runnin' like something was chasing you. Find something in that briefcase, did you?"

Spy flicked away the growing ash from his cigarette and exhaled deeply, smoke following his breath. He looked at the burning end of the stick, the orange embers coming close to the cigarette's filter.

"Something along those lines, oui."

"What was it?"

"Nothing important."

"Oh bullshit."

The Frenchman sighed and finally let go of his cigarette, snuffing out its life with the heel of his shoe. He slid down the wall, then, crossing one leg over the other as he sat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at his comrade with an exasperated expression. The Australian's glance was one of persistence, however. He wasn't going to let this go.

"Look, it was classified informa-"

Sniper snorted.

"-tion," Spy continued with an annoyed edge. "and I've been told not to share it."

"What good a spy are 'ya if you don't even share the information you learn?" said Sniper, rolling his eyes as he flicked ash away.

It was Spy's turn to snort now.

"It pertains to something involving... myself." Spy told him, choosing his words carefully. "Who I am, and so forth."

"A dime-a-dozen, backstabbing scumbag?" the bushman taunted, mimicking something Scout had once said.

Spy shook his head with a smile.

"Oui. You have nothing to concern yourself with, mon ami. My issues are mine alone."

"Oh, I'm not worried, mate." said Sniper, tossing his finished cigarette out of the window behind him. He smirked at Spy's farrowed brow.

"I'm just nosy."

Spy scoffed and waved his hand to dismiss the other man.

* * *

><p>The base was calm today, as it was every weekend they had off. One weekend a month, and most of the men spent it away from each other, either staying in their rooms to sleep the two days away, or they kept to themselves. Some would go outside to enjoy the Ceasefire, chatted with each other in the Mess Hall, or relaxed in the Rec Room.<p>

Spy himself preferred the library. It was quiet, spacious, and somewhat isolated from everyone and everything else. As he was usually the only one in there, so he could smoke and drink without a complaint. Medic, on a rare occasion, would sneak in there as well, normally frustrated by the ridiculous medical requests of his teammates. Scout was the worst offender of them all, constantly worrying that the _slightest_ pain was something serious.

When in reality it was just gas most of the time.

Spy and the doctor never exchanged words while they were in there, however, aside from the occasional sigh and grunt. They just read, and smoked, and kept to themselves.

Heavy, however, was not so fond of the solitude that everyone so deeply cherished. He would even go so far as to drag Medic out of the library, lab, and everywhere in between to play a game or two of chess.

Which was exactly what they were doing in the Rec Room when Spy wondered in, hands in his pockets.

Scout was lazing on the couch on the other end of the room, watching some muted program with one of those repulsive energy drinks resting on his chest. His eyes scanned the TV as the subtitles flew by, not even looking halfheartedly interested in what he was watching.

"Gentlemen," Spy greeted as he sat down at the table.

Medic hummed his hello and Heavy offered his comrade a soft smile. The doctor was peering over his pawns, debating with himself on which to move. Spy hummed with interest as he watched the other man make his move, knocking over Heavy's bishop. The Russian almost frowned, but quickly got over it.

"Do you want to play?" asked Heavy to Spy, moving a basic pawn forward one space.

Spy lazily waved a hand in dismissal of the idea.

"Non, it has been quite some time since I've last played." he admitted.

"Do you still know _how_?" Medic suddenly asked, looking at the Frenchman.

"Of course."

The German gently pushed the board towards Spy, gesturing for him to make a move. Spy had his brow raised, but his expression of confusion soon twisted into one of focus, eyes now scanning the board presented to him.

Medic had more pieces on the board, but Heavy was winning. The only important piece he had was his King, and Medic's Knight had it in Check. However, the Russian's King was dangerously close to Medic's.

Heavy's stare was intense, keeping his eyes on the assassin's gloved hands as they twitched against each other. He made a move, then so did Heavy, then so did he. The pieces were moving closer, more and more being knocked off the board, as the protection Spy's King had was dwindling. The Frenchman had to think smart, and his turns took considerably longer than Heavy's, gently pressing his middle finger's knuckle against his lips as he thought.

Medic's eyes went back and forth, watching the movements of both men, his chin resting on his closed fist. Both of his teammates looked determined, driven.

Finally, after four more moves;

"Check mate." said Spy with a coolness to his voice, taking Heavy's King off the board.

"Well," Medic said, a slight impressed edge to his voice. "I didn't even see that as an option."

Spy merely shrugged. "I was lucky with the placement. No real skill was involved."

"Play again." Heavy requested firmly, and Spy obliged.

"I will not hold anything back, though."

Heavy grinned. "What I am counting on."

* * *

><p>A chess game shouldn't have been so intense. Heavy has lost twice more against Spy, the last game was when Medic joined in to play against the Frenchman. The matches against Heavy were not long, Spy easily able to dance around the brute's moves once he learned his pattern. Medic was not so easy, however. He was a challenge.<p>

This particular game had been going on for a good hour, every mercenary eventually finding his way around the table to watch. A pool was even formed. Fifty bucks on Spy, and sixty on Medic.

"Man, this is _intense_." said Scout, watching the events as they unfolded from over Medic's shoulder. He groaned irritably after a realization.

"Ah crap, I've become one of you nerds."

Spy paid no attention to the young mercenary, only on the man in front of him. Medic lifted his hand, hovering it over one of his last few basic pawns before changing his mind and setting his hand down again. Both men had an equal number of pawns on the board, neither of them were winning. The odds _were_ weighing in Spy's favor, however. And the doctor saw that.

"It _is_ your turn, Docteur." Spy reminded Medic, the man humming in response.

"Come on, mate," Sniper sighed. "Make a move already."

Medic held up a finger to silence the marksman, the Australian rolling his eyes in reaction.

Medic then moved his King forward, a smirk on his face as if what he did was the winning move. Spy looked up at him after a moment, a blank expression plastered on his face. Medic looked up at him as well, locking eyes with the man in front of him.

Had his eyes always been _that _blue?

Suddenly feeling awkward, Medic returned his gaze to the chess board. That's when he saw his mistake. His King was painfully exposed, the only thing protecting it from Check was a Knight. The game could go one of two ways, winning it for either side. Spy could move his Knight and take Medic's, leaving the doctor in a position that no matter where he moved his King, Spy would be able to take it. However, if he moved a piece that wasn't his Knight, Medic could swoop in and take the Frenchman's King.

It all depended on Spy's move, and Medic had a feeling he wasn't going to go for the latter option. There was no doubt he saw his opportunity of victory, a chance to box Medic in no matter what move he did. The game was over, Medic had lost for the first time in years. He opened his mouth to congratulate his comrade, but it quickly shut and widened his eyes at what he saw.

Spy had moved his last Bishop that was still at the very beginning of the board, his eyes looking at Medic's, saying "Do it.". So he did, albeit hesitantly. Spy's King was knocked off the board by Medic's Knight, and the game was over.

Groans from those who lost the bet and cheers from those who won drowned out Medic's inquiry of "Why did you do that?". Spy merely just grinned, however.

The doctor sat back in his chair, taken aback by what he just witnessed. He watched as an angry Scout was waved away by the Frenchman he was ranting at, and the doctor's confusion and shock soon turned to suspicion.

He looked down at the chess board again, remembering how Spy had nonchalantly said that he had always been rather good at the game during his second match with Heavy, and he certainly _was_ good. Spy was a prideful man, but he never boasted unless he _knew_ he had the means -and the skill- to back it up.

His indefinite boasting and claims of skill were all well justified as everyone watched the events unfold. He had the skill and the pride, along with the game leaning heavily in his favor.

So why had he just let it slip away?

Medic looked up once more to ask again,

But the assassin was gone.


	9. Égal

_**I'm not even a little sorry. (Also, please note that I am aware of the fact that you are NOT supposed to tilt your head back in the event of a nose bleed. However, that was considered the right thing to do for a very long time until someone recently said otherwise. Let's not forget that TF2 takes place in the 1960s.)**_

* * *

><p>The weekend had gone by excruciatingly fast, and before they knew it, they were all waking up at 5:30 in the morning because Soldier called one of his unnecessary and <em>highly<em> annoying role calls. What made it more annoying was that they were spontaneous. They could happen at any day, at any time, and in any given moment so long as they weren't in battle. Whether they happened once a month, twice, or even three times in one day. Spy would have been more pissed if he wasn't so tired.

Soldier stood completely straight, as a soldier would when greeting a superior, only his hand was not to his head, both arms were folded behind his back. Everyone stood in a line, right from left and left to right. Spy stood on the far left, next to a seemingly shrunken Engineer who was muttering curses under his breath. He had heavy bags under his eyes so Spy could only assume that he stayed up later than normal, or just couldn't sleep.

No one was dressed even remotely properly, bar Soldier and Pyro (But to be honest, who even knew if that thing _ever_ took off their uniform.) and some even still looked half asleep. Scout's head kept falling, a sudden jolt waking him up as he shook his head vigorously. Sniper had a bad case of five-o-clock shadow and bloodshot eyes, Spy having to hold back a snort at his cross-hair patterned pajama pants.

The Frenchman was pretty sure Demoman was completely asleep, sporting a pair of black shorts and no shirt. Spy himself had his normal nightwear of a black tank top and silk pants, his balaclava thrown lazily on, and he would admit he was still half asleep himself.

The only one who seemed completely unaffected was Medic. He wore a pair of white pajama slacks, a gray tee shirt, and his red tie hung loosely off his neck. He didn't have his glasses on, which Spy found bizarre, but he was more interested in what was held in the steel travel mug in the doctor's hand. From the smell of it, it was coffee. The man didn't look tired at all, and it made Spy wonder how early the doctor had gone to bed last night.

The sight of the man immediately raised Spy's guard, however. Throughout the two days they had off, the Frenchman saw the paramedic _everywhere_. Sitting just a few feet away from him during dinner, lunch, _and_ breakfast, following him into the library, playing the act that he was reading, but Spy didn't miss how his eyes wondered to look at the assassin for a moment before returning to his book. Adding himself into a harmless poker game that Spy, Sniper, and Soldier were involved in. No one but Spy thought anything of it.

Even on Sunday, which was normally reserved for everyone to have a "me day" -that even Heavy followed- there was Medic. Medic initiating small talk. Medic in the library. Medic looking at him, watching him. Medic asking him to help with a small experiment.

Medic, Medic, _Medic._

The assassin's fist balled tightly at his side when he saw the doctor pass a sideways glance at him.

What the hell did he _want_?

"Look alive, ladies!" hollered Soldier after he had counted them all several times. He had confused himself when he only counted eight, and it took longer than anyone would have liked for the veteran to realize that _he __himself_ was the ninth mercenary he didn't count.

"We have BLU on the ropes, and today they will try anything, _anything_ to reclaim their Intelligence or take ours!" the man paced as he walked, arms still folded behind his back. Spy listened with an eyebrow raised, wondering if the man actually had something insightful and useful to say.

"So I've devised a plan." he stopped, his head tilted upwards enough so his teammates could see his eyes. There was a fire in them, and this was a good sign.

"I will go in as a distraction, firing just close enough where it will scatter them, their most defensive going after me while offense breaks away to pursue the base. By then, Medic should have an Übercharge ready to power Heavy into maximum overdrive." Spy's eyebrows raised higher, so far impressed by the plan Soldier was explaining.

"Scout, your counterpart is fast and cunning, and that makes him the greatest threat to our Intelligence. Your job is to keep on his tail and away from base long enough to allow Engineer to build his sentry. Sniper, I need you on higher ground than what you're used to. BLU will be charging in ruthlessly and without remorse, and the higher you are, the more ground you can cover. Preferably a place that looks over the bridge and the area below it."

Everyone looked impressed, very much so. Even Heavy had shaken off his usual cold demeanor to purse his lips in interest.

"We keep at this until time runs out, and the match is ours, and we break BLU even further." Soldier finished, and Spy actually held back the urge to clap. He was expecting the speech to take a turn for the worst, some asinine spin that would leave many to groan and roll their eyes.

But it hadn't. For once, Soldier had actually said something intelligent and sensible.

"Then we will release ravenous raccoons into their base and they will truly know the meaning of fear!"

Perhaps he had spoken too soon...

"Oh for- _merde._" Spy hissed, hand smacking against his forehead. "You _have_ to be joking!"

Solider's head snapped towards the groaning Frenchman, then marched over menacingly. He got close into the other man's face, Spy leaning back slightly with a disgusted expression as his comrade's breath was almost insulting.

"Is there a problem, Sally?"

"You mean other than the fact that you had a fool-proof plan that could have gained you respect had you not added in that last bit?" Spy rolled his eyes, pushing the veteran away from him so he could straighten his back.

"And to think I came close to respecting you this morning. I suppose I should not be so surprised."

Soldier narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman in front of him, both men holding tense glares at each other before Soldier broke away to headbutt the assassin in the face.

Spy recoiled with a shout, blood pouring from his nose as he knelt close to the ground.

"Oh you mother_fucker_!" he snarled, two fingers pinching his nose tight to slow the bloodflow.

"Now," Soldier continued after Medic had rushed over to tend to Spy's broken nose. "If there are no more questions, that is the plan we will be following this morning. No if, ands, or buts!"

"_No_ raccoons, Soldier!" Medic said firmly, bringing Spy carefully to his feet. The Frenchman was glaring daggers at the Jane Doe with absolute hatred, ignoring Medic's order to put his head back.

"_Fine!_ No raccoons, but he rest of the plan is a go! You're all dismissed."

Everyone sauntered away to tend to what they needed to, either to shower, get changed, or stuff food down their throats. Most likely all three, however.

Spy was spitting all matter of curses in French as Medic led him to the infirmary, the German doctor merely sighing at the Frenchman's rage. It reminded him of the night near two weeks ago where he came in with horrid back pains and a sickness that was even worse, and where it was first made apparent that something was wrong with the Respawn System. Only the swears and threats were not directed towards him this time.

"I'm going to kill him, one day." Spy snarled as they walked, drops of blood lining their path. "I swear to _Dieu_ I'm going to kill him."

Medic rolled his eyes. "No you won't, now put your head back." he tried ordering again, but to no result. Spy only continued to rant to himself in French and Medic was becoming increasingly impatient. He grabbed the back of the other man's balaclava and yanked back, Spy's face shooting towards the ceiling.

"I said head back, _bitte._" he hissed.

Spy huffed and groaned unhappily as he sat down in one of the chairs in the infirmary, head still tilted back as he didn't want to incite the doctor's wrath. His eyes were pulled downward in a slightly painful way to watch Medic as he crossed the room to unhook the Medigun from its perch above the operation table. He let out a soft grunt as he held his arms stiff at the waist to stop the machine from falling to the ground.

The doctor only hoped that the Medigun would do a proper job.

After coaxing the man to take off his mask, he aimed the gun right at him, pushing the lever forward to release the healing ray of scientifically altered medicine. The blood flow had stopped, which was a good sign, seeing how it was pouring out in an alarming rate, and any bruising that might have been left behind was gone. There were no noticeable marks, cuts, or bruises that Medic could see, and his heart almost sang with delight.

The doctor took a damp rag to the other mercenary's face to wipe the dried blood away, and he almost sighed at the state of the spy's now crooked nose.

Well, he couldn't have everything, he supposed.

"Ach, scheiße." Medic swore, grabbing Spy's chin to turn his face so Medic could see better. The assassin pursed his lips in slight annoyance, only making the situation with his nose worse.

"What?"

"Soldier must have hit you pretty good, because your nose is bent in a way it shouldn't be."

Spy sighed. "Great."

"Don't get so irritated, I can fix it."

"With the Medigun?"

"Nein, unfortunately, I will have to do it myself."

The assassin let out a noise that voiced his discomfort and inheritance at the idea. Medic took a step back and Spy turned his head back to face the man in front of him.

"Just warn me when you are about to do so, I would like to prepare myself for-" Before Spy could finish, Medic snapped the Frenchman's nose back in place with a swift movement, and the mercenary once again recoiled at the sudden pain. Medic wasn't even looking at the other man now as he went about throwing on the long, white coat he always wore during battle.

"I said warn me!"

"Ja." Medic said with complete disinterest.

"And you didn't."

"Nope."

"And _why_ is that?"

"Because then you would have expected it, and it would have hurt more than it does now. Stop being ein kind and go get ready for today's battle." said the doctor firmly, not watching as his colleague stormed out without so much as a "thank you". Such was to be expected of Spy, however, along with his ability to seemingly vanish out of the German's line of sight.

Watching him today was going to be quite a struggle.

* * *

><p>This was Spy's forth time through the Respawn System as of today, the pit in his stomach growing larger each time he near popped into re-existence out of thin air. It was embarrassing how many times he had been caught off guard, even the <em>slightest<em> momentary drop in guard and he was "sent through the ringer" as Scout had once called that unpleasant experience. His last death was caused by the BLU Heavy grabbing him while he was still cloaked and slamming his head against the wall until it literally split open.

He fell uncloaked to the ground with a busted skull, barely able to hear the brute's screams of dying agony before being claimed. The added experience left him with a throbbing headache that was made near excruciating when he cloaked again. He wasn't paying much attention to where he was going as he walked, keeping his attention on the main goal he had set for himself before the battle had began.

Besides making sure that no one took the Intelligence of either team, he had planned to shadow Medic in an attempt to find out his reasoning behind following the Frenchman around like a lost dog.

Spy was a man to follow others as a part of his career, to gather any kind of information that could bring them to their knees, save them, or have them killed. His job, even before he came to Team Fortress, had always been a double edged sword, dangerous to anyone who didn't know how to handle it. He was a master of it, never once faltering in a way that made anyone doubt his abilities as a spy, as an assassin. He was damned good at his job, perhaps one of the best.

So he did _not_ appreciate the fact that someone was returning the favor.

In his lack of attention, Spy ran into someone as he rounded a corner, uncloaking as he fell to the ground. He growled lowly in annoyance as he looked up, slightly repulsed by what he saw in front of him.

There Medic stood, covered in blood that _wasn't_ his own, Crusader's Crossbow in hand and a bloody Übersaw at his waist. He had a concerned look on his face that would have been endearing, had he not have been covered in somebody's bodily fluids. Without a word he helped Spy to his feet, opening his mouth to speak but quickly interrupted by the Administrator howling that BLU was about to ambush RED's base. Instead of wasting time with words, both men snapped quickly into action, charging in the direction where they heard Soldier screeching his battle cry.

The entirety of the RED team was charging out into the open field, even Sniper, and Heavy called out for Medic's assistance. BLU came marching out right after them, a fierce fire in all of their eyes.

_"__ATTACK!_" screamed Soldier, and the RED team answered with a battle cry of their own before charging in after the enemy.

Bullet shells from the Ambassador sang as they hit the ground, each bullet hitting either a head or some other body part to slow them down or stop them dead. Spy saw an opportunity to sneak up on the enemy Engineer as he was attempting to build a sentry. This attempt was as crushed as the Engineer's windpipe as Spy pulled his forearm tight against the other man's throat. His victim barely had enough time to panic before a balisong was forced into his jugular, falling to the ground with a gurgled cry. Spy destroyed the small sentry gun before it had enough time to do any damage with a hard kick, its head flying off and rolling into the battle field.

The Frenchman slightly grinned to himself as he heard the terrifying roar of their Übercharged Heavy, mowing down any and all in his path with an equally bloodthirsty laugh. Medic, however, held none of the passion he did during the last battle, gritting his teeth tightly as if he was in pain rather than demonic pleasure from the charge as usual.

Spy watched as Soldier blew his counterpart to pieces, Demoman as he bashed the BLU Scout's head in with the butt of his grenade launcher, only to be gunned down by the enemy's Heavy. With the protection of the Übercharge gone, their own beastly Russian took a sniper shot to the head, falling to the ground with a boom. Medic was nowhere to be seen.

The assassin's eyes trailed over the playing field, everyone too preoccupied with what they were shooting at to pay any mind to him. The screams of his comrades and enemies were all that he heard, gunfire and explosions being the melody to this choir of death.

Before he was even able to take a step, he felt the back of his jacket's collar being grabbed, a strong arm roughly pulling him into a shack that sat on the sidelines. As he stumbled less than gracefully into the building, a sniper's bullet shot at the place where he had been standing. His balisong then flipped open between his fingers, the blade held pointed downwards.

In a swift movement he forced his forearm against the chest of his attacker and pressed the butterfly knife to their throat, placing his face close to theirs. He didn't even flinch when he realized who it was.

"G-guten Abent to you as well." Medic breathed, his eyes on the blade pressed against his neck.

"Why," Spy almost hissed. "Why am I seeing you _everywhere_?"

"Because we - ach – are on the same team?" Medic said, grunting slightly as Spy pressed against his chest harder.

"Do _not _play the idiot with me, Docteur." There was a snarl on the man's lips now, his eyes narrowed in a glare. His face was close to the doctor's, dangerously so. The smell of the mercenary's cologne was stronger than usual, he must have put some on right before the battle started. This closeness should have been awkward, uncomfortable, even.

But yet...

"I'm _waiting._"

Medic couldn't find any words to explain his actions, so his mouth just hung open with his throat releasing sounds that tried to be words but failed. The look in Spy's eyes was fierce and intimidating, the same look they always carried during a battle. Only they were not directed at the promise of hearing some poor fool's screams die on their lips, they were directed at the doctor.

And that in and of itself was dangerous.

Scout then howled for Medic's help, and the doctor snapped back to reality. He pushed the enraged Spy off of him to charge back outside into the fray. The merc narrowed his eyes in the direction Medic ran in, aggressively pulling down on his suit's jacket to straighten it. There was something strange going on with that man, and if it had anything to do with Spy, he _would_ find out what.

Nevertheless, he was no longer under the doctor's unnecessary watch, and he could easily sneak off. He flipped his balisong closed and stuffed into his breast pocket, flashing away in a cloak as he walked out of the small shack he was forced in. He decided to check on the Intel room, making sure that everything was where it needed to be. His comrades were doing a fine job keeping BLU at bay, but there was a chance that some might have slipped by amongst the chaos. Spy took on the responsibly to clean up any mess made by this so called "plan".

It was quiet away from the battlefield, eerily so, and Spy has not yet decided if this was a good sign or not. He found foot prints in the drying mud outside of the Intel room, and he uncloaked, bending down to inspect the prints. The sole was smooth at the heel and there was gripping at the toes, how his own shoes were made. The were a small faded circle at the end of the heel, the number "_41_" within the circle. _His_ shoe size, the prints were his, no doubt from Friday.

Spy stood straight and pursed his lips, entering the room with his hand to the Ambassador. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly shot straight up, scratching against the cloth of his balaclava. Despite the sudden raise in his guard, it seemed like no one was here, - even Engineer hadn't set up his nest yet – but Spy felt as if there were eyes on him. Watching his every step, listening to every breath that he exhaled. Both teams' Intelligence was here, locked away in their respective cases, beckoning any enemy forth with temptation. The room was empty, staying the same way no matter how many times Spy turned his back. He wouldn't leave yet. Not until Engineer was here.

There was a small cracking sound over on the other side of the room. Then another, then a third. Each crack was louder than the last and Spy's curiosity made him move his feet subconsciously. What if was a trap? He'd be walking _right_ into it! It didn't stop him, though. He couldn't stop himself.

Right as he was about to investigate the sound, however;

_"__Espoin!_" Spy hissed when he heard a deactivating cloak behind him. He tried to turn around to face the owner of the sound, but there was already an arm wrapped around his neck. He choked slightly at the sudden constriction, hands trying to pull the arm away.

"Bonjour, mon ami." the BLU Spy purred, making his grip tighter. Spy couldn't wriggle into a position where he could send his elbow into his counterpart's face so he settled on kicking their knee. It wasn't hard enough to snap, but it made his enemy let go and recoil, recovering quickly to send a blow of his own against Spy. A hard fist to the jaw sent the Frenchman stumbling, BLU grabbing the back of his jacket, throwing him against the wall. This wasn't a normal fight, there was something personal to it.

Spy tried to bring himself back to his feet, but BLU kicked him back down roughly.

"I received a rather interesting request," said BLU, a grin on his face as he watched his counterpart struggle to stand back up.

"Oh?" questioned Spy, playing along as he reached for his revolver. This action was shot down by BLU sending a kick to Spy's stomach, sending him back against the wall. Dammit, if he could only catch his breath.

BLU was on him almost instantly, pinning him against the wall, face uncomfortably close to his own.

"Oui, and you'll find who order it even more so." BLU taunted, cutting off Spy before he could even speak.

_"__Wolf dit bonjour."_

Spy's eyes widened in sudden fear, then coughed when a knee was forced into his gut. Spy responded with a headbutt to BLU's face, imitating the same action used against him by Soldier this morning. BLU was knocked back, holding his injured face. Spy was finally able to catch his breath, a grin on his face as he saw blood drip onto the floor from BLU's nose. The Frenchman had blood of his own trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he disregarded this fact as he reached for the Ambassador.

While BLU was still trying to shake himself back into reality, Spy aimed his revolver at BLU's head and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened.

Shit.

Fucking _shit_.

Now was _not_ the time to jam. Not now.

The grin that spread across the now bloodied lips of his counterpart was sickening, sending chills down Spy's spine as he crossed over to him in a smooth, quick stride. Hand against his throat as, once again, he was forced to the wall, his head crudely slammed against the concrete repeatedly.

Where the _fuck_ was Engineer?

Spy's vision blurred more with each hit, suddenly becoming weak, head feeling as if it was splitting wide open. He thought back to earlier, feeling the same thing that he did when BLU's Heavy had done the same that his counterpart was. Ironic that it was happening again, there most likely wasn't a possibility that it was planned.

Just really shitty luck on his part.

Suddenly the bashing stopped, Spy feeling the hot breath of BLU on his face, barely able to make out the facial features that were visible under his mask. He could barely see anything, his vision was failing.

"I am going to _break_ you, _Benoît_."

Spy almost didn't hear the usage of his own name, but when it hit him that it was used, a sudden surge of strength coursed through him. A strength that was given to him through fear, fear that his worst nightmare had been realized. His identity really was compromised, and it scared the shit out of him.

He didn't know how he did it, but he now had a hard grip on BLU's tie, firing his fist repeatedly into his counterpart's face until they fell to the floor. Spy stumbled and felt light on his feet, a heavy, high pitched ringing in his ears that was almost deafening. His vision was barely returning to its previous state, but it was enough to see his target.

The assassin was slow, though, and he couldn't dodge his enemy's charge, slamming into him, the both of them tumbling towards the opening that led to the dead-end outside. The opening that so many became trapped in because they couldn't climb over that ledge that would lead to their freedom.

The two men fought viciously, clawing, kicking, punching, swatting, and everything in between. Spy was able to shake his counterpart part off of him, kicking himself up to his feet, his head screaming in protest to his sudden action. BLU was back onto him like a moth to a flame, hand gripping at Spy's throat, kneeing him repeatedly in the gut as he reached for something in his suit. Spy's hands tried pulling away his enemy's hand, barely able to breathe the tighter he constricted. A deep growl was forced out of his throat, eyes winced closed as they were basically no use, they were too blurred.

He heard the metallic click of a balisong suddenly, and felt it being forced into him.

Eyes widened, mouth help open in shock, a pathetic noise leaving him as he looked down at the blade that was now in his body. It was right between his ribs, Spy already starting to taste the blood that crawled up his throat after every breath.

There as no grin on his counterpart's lips, no smirk, not one ounce of emotion on his face. Not even as he crudely twisted the blade around and ripped it out, shoving Spy to fall down into the pit below.

He choked when his his back hit hard against the ground, an alarming amount of blood spewing out of his mouth in response. His hand clutched desperately at his wound, feeling the warm ooze even through his gloves as it slipped steadily through his fingers. Breathing was becoming more difficult, blood slowly pooling in the back of his throat. Everything advised against this, but he swallowed in a desperate attempt to regain his breath, only beginning to feel sick.

The BLU Spy sauntered down with a noticeable limp, his features still void of any feeling at all. He just watched for a moment as his enemy struggled to breathe, pathetic gurgles and spits sounding in place of the words he was trying to speak. The other assassin looked down at what Spy was trying to reach for. The Dead Ringer.

There was a small chance that it was do any good, but Spy was willing to try. Any death was better than this, even if it was fake.

His counterpart took it away from him though, a small, drowned out whine sounding from Spy in protest that quickly turned to a choked cough. BLU cast a sideways glance at his enemy, and to the bloodied hand that was desperately reaching towards him. The hand dropped back to the wound in defeat once the device was fired at the wall, the pocket-watch-shaped gadget shattering upon impact.

Spy figured out what was causing the blood to pool in the back of his throat as his counterpart walked away. The bleeding that was steadily becoming worse. The bastard had most likely punctured his lung when he twisted the blade, various bodily fluids spilling in with every breath he took.

The pain was worse than the shame. To the ripping, emptying feeling in his chest, to the burning sensation he felt in his throat. Oh how he cursed the BLU Spy right now.

End it. Just _end it_ like a man. Don't let him die this way.

But the bastard was walking away.

Carrying both briefcases with him.

* * *

><p>It was humiliating. Frustrating, down right fucking <em>disgraceful<em>.

They had lost. Again. Both cases. The Administrator was _furious_, as she had a right to be. She told each and every one of them how useless they were, how utterly stupid their "plan" was. That their failure was almost disgusting.

_"__You're a disgrace to this company."_ she snarled.

_"__Heads so far up your backsides you can see how tiny and shriveled your brains are."_

_ "How hard is it to guard two briefcases?"_

_ "Disgusting. Every single one of you." _

_ "You don't deserve your titles." _

Ouch. That one hurt.

She shut up once Medic had heavily slammed his locker closed, the sound echoing through the room and making everyone jump. The force shook something loose that was set on top of the lockers this morning and it shattered once it hit the ground. It was one of Sniper's coffee mugs, still half full with the brown liquid, now spilled all over the floor.

No one dared stare, though. Not when Medic was like this. One wrong look or word and your head would be removed from your shoulders in a blink of an eye. Everyone undressed themselves as much as they cared to while they were in front of the others, but no one did more than that.

Medic stood very still, hand still pressed against his slammed locker, his body leaning on his arm heavily. His head hung loose as he looked at nothing, his breathing slow and steady.

He wasn't angry, not at his teammates. They did their best.

He was disappointed.

"Hey, fellas?" Scout pipped up uneasily, as if fearing everyone was going to turn on him for daring to speak. No one looked at him though, and he swallowed before continuing.

"Where's... Where's Spy?"

That's what grabbed their attention, Medic only slightly looking up as the others noticed that the salty Frenchman was nowhere to be found.

_"__Well?_" the Administrator spoke again, as if waiting for someone to answer Scout's question. Their hearts all dropped when they heard Ms. Pauling choke out "_Oh my God. Administrator... The very top left monitor." _

Everyone knew it was serious when the Administrator, who was spitting harsh insults at them not even minutes before, gasped, ordering the mercenaries to find Spy. They did so without second thought, their not-so-sweet overseer guiding them as they marched out in a desperate attempt to find their missing comrade.

They checked everywhere, behind everything, and in between every nook and cranny that a man could possibly fit himself into. He was in none of these places, and the worry was growing considerably. They were ready to tear the whole base apart until they heard Scout's frantic shouting.

"Guys! Guys he's over here! Hurry up!"

They followed the young man's voice to the "Ditch" as they called it, and there Spy lay, in a growing pool of his own blood, body twitching and shuddering as his pain was no doubt unbearable. An alarming amount of the crimson ooze was pouring out of his mouth and from a botched wound in his side. There was one pathetic sound after another as the man struggled to breathe, drowning in his own blood and fluid. The mercs circled around him and he made it a point not to make eye contact with any of them. Eventually he closed his eyes, but was still struggling.

"Do something, Doc!" Scout begged, a catch in his throat that broke Medic's heart to hear.

"Nein... he is too far gone. The Medigun cannot help him."

"How the hell do you know?!" the young merc snapped, a wetness swelling in his eyes as he snapped them towards the doctor. "You ain't even tried yet!"

"I know... Believe me."

"Bullshit!"

"Scout," Medic's shaky voice betrayed his emotion, looking at the boy with heavy eyes. "Stop."

Scout went silent, returning his gaze to the pathetic sight below him.

Spy whimpered and wheezed, body quivering with every shuddering breath he took. He was so pale, there was absolutely no colour in his face. Looking at him was heart breaking, the once strong, steadfast and egotistical smart-ass was now reduced to nothing but a pathetic, bleeding shell of what he was just hours before.

"Aw hell, I can't watch this anymore." Engineer spoke, taking his pistol out into the open, pointing it at the Frenchman's head. Spy looked at it, then looked at Engineer, a pleading look in his eyes. He was _begging _him to pull the trigger and end his suffering.

And he did.

A loud bang and it was over.


	10. Now It's My Turn

When Spy sauntered out of the Respawn System, everyone expected him to look like his normal self bar a now torn and damaged suit. They were expecting him to hide the rest of his face away in shame, mumbling in fluent French how much of an embarrassment it was to go through what he just did, and to have every watching as well. Instead, they were greeted by the same shell of a man who looked worse than he did before going in. He was barely able to drag himself out of the Respawn room before collapsing to the ground.

Medic had Heavy carry the mercenary down to the Med Bay, lay his body onto the operation table, and leave so Medic could start the surgery. The Medigun was of no use as he feared it would be, so everything had to be done by hand. Preparation, both mental and physical, cleansing, proper lighting, gloves, scalpels. It had been almost ten years since his hands would have to save a life rather than end it, ten years since he had to physically cut someone open and fix what was going on inside of them.

He decided that him making those adjustments to all of their hearts didn't count, he wasn't nervous then. He wasn't worried that he'd make a mistake, because he _knew_ what he was doing. The doctor knew what he was doing now, it was something he would never forget how to do for as long as he lived. But there was something else to this particular situation, something that made Medic question a few things about himself and his confidence in his profession.

He was afraid.

Afraid he would make it worse, or damage Spy in a way that made him useless and therefore a liability. Liabilities were killed, he knew this. Especially with this particular company.

And he didn't want Spy to die.

Nevertheless, the man was in desperate condition and it was an utter miracle that he was even still alive. The swelling of the wound and his head was horrendous, to the point where Medic had to cut the Frenchman's balaclava off to remove it without causing more damage. Blood continued to seep from the wound in his side and in the back of his head, the man extremely pale from the excessive loss of the crimson liquid.

The doctor had a look of intense focus plastered onto his face as he worked, not allowing anything to distract him from what he was doing. He even ignored the cooing of the birds above as they watched their owner with curiosity. To make matters worse, the assassin kept flat-lining, forcing Medic to stop whatever he was currently doing to try and shock the man's heart back into action. Having him go through Respawn at this time would do much more harm than good at this point.

Plus there was even a chance that it wouldn't do _any_ good anyway.

* * *

><p>Medic stumbled out of the the infirmary, throwing his back against the wall and letting out a long, loud, and tired sigh that had a groan mixed in. He slid down the wall into a sitting position, his tired and sore legs sprawled out in front of him, bloodied, gloved hands resting on top of his thighs. Blood was splattered all over the front of his vest, spots of the same substance going up the lining of his arms. He tore off one of the soiled gloves to reveal a clean hand underneath, rubbing his face with said hand.<p>

"How is he, doc?" asked the soft-spoken Engineer, hovering over the doctor with the offer of helping him up.

Medic shook his head to decline the offer, and Engineer's hand fell awkwardly to his side.

"He is holding steady for now, there was quite a bit of damage done to him."

"Like?"

"Besides the obvious botched stab wound?" Medic said with a sarcastic bite, eyes shooting up to the Texan with a slight glare. The other man stepped back a bit in defense, and Medic sighed.

"I'm sorry, mein freund. I'm exhausted..."

"It's alright, doc. That's to be expected." Engineer said patiently. "You were saying?"

Medic explained Spy's condition as best as he could in non-medal terms so his comrade could understand. Engineer was not a stupid man, not even close to being so. It was just easier to use simple terms than to stop and explain what one thing was to another.

Spy had internal bleeding near his abdomen, stomach, and kidneys. No doubt he had taken quite a beating from whoever did this to him. The – from what Medic could tell by the wound – blade forced into him had ripped through his lung, causing him to choke on his own blood and fluid. There was also severe head trauma, which eventually led to his brain swelling. Medic had to put the merc into a temporary coma to keep his situation from getting even worse.

"The blade his assailant used to stab him with also had a rather acute poison that I did not think I had the antidote for." he explained further. "Gott sei dank that I did..."

"That bad?"

"Considering how it was eating away at his insides, ja. I would like to believed it was bad." Medic said, rubbing his temple.

Engineer whistled slightly, stuffing his hands into his overalls' pockets to have them doing _something_. He almost jumped when Medic suddenly stood, the German now storming down the halls in a graceful stride, a new found determination leading him forward. The Texan had to jog to keep up, his short, stubby legs unable to carry him in a way that Medic's long and slender legs could carry him.

"Where're you goin'?" he asked, a heaviness to his breath.

"To deal with something that I should have taken care of a while ago."

"That bein'?" Medic ignored his teammate's next question, not breaking in his stride as he near glided down the halls. One corner turned and the two men of science almost mowed down Sniper, the Australian cursing and spitting as they continued on without looking back.

The next they had to avoid the more-ecstatic-than-usual Scout and ignore his questions of where they were going. The third and Heavy merely sidestepped out of the way, all too familiar with _that look_ that was on the doctor's face. Getting in his way meant a certain and painful trip through Respawn.

The final corner and Medic slammed open the doors to their destination; the Communications Room.

Medic wasted no time in flicking on all of the monitors, keyboards, and various switches and levers that even _Engineer_ couldn't tell what they were for. The man then proceeded to pound a number into a keypad, waiting as a dial rang, tapping his foot in impatience. He said, nor did, nothing when the call rang out, only dialed the number again and waited further.

The groaning sigh that answered the call was not a happy one, and Engineer widened his eyes when he realized who was called.

The Administrator.

_"What do you __want__, Kla-"_

"You know damn well what I want, Helen, do not play dumb with me." Medic interrupted her before she could say his name. Engineer couldn't hold back a gasp at what he heard, his eyes widening further.

_"I've told you already, __doctor__."_ the woman corrected herself, now aware that the man in front of her was _not_ alone.

_"The System if perfectly fine, so __no__, I will __not__-"_

Medic slammed his hands hard onto the control board, silencing the woman a second time. She didn't flinch, though, she only looked growingly irritated.

"Then explain to me why Spy's condition was made worse by respawning rather than better?" The Administrator opened her mouth to speak, but Medic wouldn't allow one word pass. She had talked enough, denied him enough.

_"Not it's __my__ turn."_ he thought.

"Explain to me why Scout still had burns on his arms, or Engineer's headaches and migraines, Spy's back and illness! Why the Medigun did _nothing_ while I had my colleague under the knife during a four hour surgery that was a hit or miss at best! Why I had to constantly shock the man's heart back into action because there was a possibility that going through Respawn again would kill him for _good_!

"Why when every time one of us dies, it takes one second longer to get thrown back into the action, only to die again, to take longer. It takes a whole damn minute to respawn, have you even noticed that? Have you noticed that all of us are dying more easily because your so-called-"perfect system" is wearing down and dying out?

"Have you even stopped to notice that the more respawns we go through a match, the weaker we become? The more tired we are? _That's_ why we've been losing, Helen. Because we're _tired_ when we _damn well _shouldn't be!"

Medic stopped, his glare fixed on the screen that rivaled the Administrator's own. And he was winning, she had nothing to say. Not even a snort sounded from her. The words that escaped Medic's mouth held all of the bitterness that he had building up inside since all of this began, and he wasn't allowing the woman on the screen to witness any mercy he may have had. His upper lip was curled into a vicious snarl, baring a pair of near sharp teeth underneath. His dark red eyes burned with a fire that roared more fierce than any blaze Pyro could set.

Engineer stood there, stunned.

"So allow me to give you an ultimatum, _Fräulein_," he said with a bitter bite.

"Either you allow me to look at, and eventually fix, the fucking Respawn System, or I'll throw an absolute shitstorm that rivals that of which you have ever seen until you do." Medic said, a growl to his voice that made him utterly terrifying.

"Your choice."

The Administrator's glare was almost deadly, but Medic returned it ten-fold. Engineer's own eyes darted between the doctor and their superior, the Administrator breaking her contact with Medic to shoot the glance at him. The Texan was not a man to be easily intimidated or frightened, but he _felt_ his heart stop dead until she took her eyes off of him.

_"Fine."_ she snarled in a vicious tone, the poison of her words near seeping through the screen of the monitor.

_"Look at the damn Respawn System, tickle its wires, shove it up your self-righteous, ego inflated ass for all I care, doctor."_

"Glad you finally see it my way, libeling." Medic said, the previous growl to his voice gone completely. His expression was blank, but his stance was still dominant, as if he still had something to prove to the woman looking down upon him with utter hatred and will of murder. But still he stood, tall and strong, shooting back the woman's glares with ones of his own that never seemed to falter. It was one of the most terrifying things Engineer had ever seen in his life.

And it was something _magical_.

"Herr Engineer and I will begin work immediately."

_"I didn't authorize him to help you."_ the Administrator hissed, trying to regain some of her authority.

"I wasn't _asking_ for your authorization." Medic replied coolly, and just when Engineer thought the man couldn't dig his grave any deeper, he ended the transmission.

_He_ hung up on _her_.

Fucking Christ.

* * *

><p>Medic recoiled with a pained hiss when Engineer wailed on his bicep as they walked down same halls to a new destination.<p>

"What in the Sam Hell were you _thinkin'_, talking to the Administrator like that?" the Texan questioned harshly, punching the doctor's arm repeatedly between words before stopping.

"Are you out of your God damned _mind_, boy?"

"I will not apologize for wanting to help my teammates." Medic mumbled, rubbing his now-sore arm.

"I reckon she's lookin' more for your death rather than an apology." Engineer sighed. "Good mighty Lord, man, you were having a staring contest of death with that woman without even battin' an eyelash. She looked at me for _half _a second and I almost damn near wet myself!"

"She does not frighten me." said the doctor sternly.

"Maybe not, but her gun might."

Medic said nothing more to that, and the two men walked in silence. Engineer wasn't quite sure again where they were going this time, but if it was anything like where he just was, he very well just might just shrink away. And it was looking like he just might as Medic pushed open a door that had an _"AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY"_ sign plastered across it.

The room was pitch black dark before the lights were flicked on, Engineer taking in everything he saw with widened eyes. Rows upon rows of various buttons, switches, and levers that were very similar to the ones of the Communications Room were dotted all over the surface board. Dials, meters, and readers were placed onto the wall above the various buttons and levers. Different coloured wires protected by metal casing ran through and across the top board, connecting to each other, to dials, and to meters.

Above everything sat several monitors, each with their own running system of those same wires and dials. The sound of clicking, beeping, chirping and the busy hum of each electronic made the room loud and almost painful to the ears to stand in for too long. What may have been pointless, perhaps annoying noise to some, was a choir of science to Engineer.

Upon closer inspection of the monitors, the mechanic noticed something;

There was nine of them, each displaying one of each of the mercs' names at the top of the screen in capitals. A long list of binary code followed underneath that was constantly scrolling and flickering, dates being listed as far back as several months ago. Shorthanded words also written in capital letters were placed in between – what may have been random – bits of coding, taking the man a moment to realize what was being said.

They were causes of death, everything and anything that caused a man to be rebuilt from nothing but a single atom, cell, blood sample, or flap of skin. It told who caused the death, how long it took to reconstruct their bodies, how many times they had died that round, and several other pieces of information.

Engineer's eyes danced over to the monitor labeled _"SPY_" and read through the history.

"_November 22__nd__, 1968". _Today.

"_6:42 PM". _Four hours ago.

"_Severe head trauma, skull fracture, internal bleeding, ruptured organ, severe poisoning-"_

The list went on, showing Engineer everything wrong with the Frenchman that Medic didn't tell him about. All causes of the unpleasant and heart-wrenching death Spy experienced, the Texan almost wincing at the cause that read _"Bullet wound to head"_. It was out of pity, Engineer knew that, they all knew that, Spy would know it once he woke up from his coma.

But the tag that read _"Friendly Fire_" hurt more than it should have. However there was one more thing that caught the Texan's eye, something that was there instead of how long it took for Spy to respawn.

_**"SYSTEM FAILURE"**_

Something finally clicked in Engineer's head that made him realize where he was standing;

The very heart of the Respawn System.

"Well I'll be God damned." gasped the Texan, eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy stores'.

Medic only hummed halfheartedly in response, pulling off a metal panel that lay against the wall underneath the control boards. A whole mess of wires and circuits came falling out, together in a tangled mess that made the doctor frown at the sight of it. They were not managed properly, and no doubt the years of this negligence is what led to the System's downfall.

The German did not have the impressive skills that Engineer possessed involving electronics, mechanisms, or wiring, but he wasn't entirely ignorant, either. He needed the proper tools in order to do this job properly, and Engineer was just the man to be in possession of such tools.

After Medic had instructed his teammate to bring down anything he would believe to be helpful, the doctor stood again with a short grunt. He wiped the front of his trousers of any dust or grime he might have collected from kneeling on the floor, and he realized he was still bloody. A small huff came from his nostrils as he looked around, taking in everything that he saw.

He had never been in here before, and he would be lying if he said that he was never curious about what was _in_ this room. Every base had it. A large door shouting at those who didn't have the proper authorization to pass to turn back, completed with a lock that not even Spy or Scout could get into. Each and every time they arrived at a new or old base, Medic would find this door in the middle of the night, jiggle the handle, only to be disappointed that it was locked.

But now he was inside. Now he _saw_ the inner workings of the machine that allowed them new life over, and over, and over again. To die every day, completely rebuilt down to any scar, birth mark or mole any of them may have had before hand. It should have been impossible. Each and every single damn one of them should have been dead before any of this started. Before they even set one foot out on the battle field. They should all have been in six foot holes in the ground with grieving family members standing above their buried coffin.

They were all breathing, though. All had a heartbeat. And it was because of this one machine.

A machine that was broken.

A machine _he_ would fix.


	11. Song Of Strings

_**Sorry this took so long, guys. I was going through some emotional problems along with a bit of writer's block. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait, though!**_

* * *

><p><em>"Are you <em>_out__ of your mind?!"_ Ms. Pauling had screeched at Medic. The small assistant had a made a large entrance as she barged into the Repawn's Control Room while the two men were working on it. She made it crystal clear that she believed Medic to be absolutely insane, the doctor stepping back in defense as the small woman marched closer, index finger pointed in his face. This continued until she had Medic leaned against one of the control panels, hands pressed against buttons they shouldn't have been to keep the German from falling over completely.

_"Do you have any idea how much you just screwed yourself over? Oh my __God__, I have never seen that woman so angry!" _she had also said, punching his arm a few times to empathize her words.

Medic had tried to speak several times, but Ms. Pauling had shot down every opportunity afforded to him.

_"And you hung up on __her__! Jesus, Medic, are you __trying__ to get yourself killed?!" _

Medic had tried to speak again.

_"You know what, don't answer. You do know she took her anger out on me, right? I lost the __one__ day off I had this year! Do you understand that's __one__ day out of 365? One day and it's gone!"_

_"God, I swear, you can be such an idiot sometimes!" _

_"I'm sorry..." _Medic had said with a frown, and Ms. Pauling pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

_"No. No, you stop with that. You are not going to make me feel bad for yelling at you!"_

Medic continued his frown and the purple suited woman balled her fists at her sides, arms shaking slightly in her irritation.

_"Ugh, dammit! You make it impossible to stay mad at you!"_

Medic had grinned then, feeling suddenly triumphant that he was able to best the woman. He knelt to continue his work again, Ms. Pauling now looming over him with heavy since of superiority.

_"You're still an idiot."_

_"Oh, I know._"

Engineer snorted to himself over in the corner while he was working on Pyro's side of the Respawn.

_"That's what 'ya get."_

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed since then, since Medic's outburst against the Administrator. Since Spy's incident, the work on the Respawn, and the growing sensation that something terrible was going to happen to him. The doctor had stumbled into the infirmary, long coat almost torn and bloody, Medigun feeling abnormally heavy on his back. He let it to the floor carefully with a grunt, letting his soiled coat fall with it along with gloves. Leaning against his desk, he let out a great heave of a sigh.<p>

These past two weeks might as well have been hell. They were able to reclaim their own Intelligence, but whenever they made a play for BLU's again, they were torn down in the most harsh way possible. The BLU Soldier had seemed to make it his personal goal to be around every corner that Medic turned, blowing him into pieces with a battle cry tearing from his lips before going back off into the fray. And the BLU Demoman was making Engineer's life more difficult than it needed to be by destroying any building he had _just_ fully upgraded.

Each match had been ending in a boring stalemate, but at least they hadn't been losing, and that kept the Administrator off their backs. She had been rather quiet, however, save for her usual banter on the battlefield, but even that was lacking. That was what concerned Medic, she hadn't said anything to him about his blatant question of her authority, and he was still waiting for punishment on that regard.

The longer it wasn't brought to the surface, the more paranoid the man became. Either she was cooking up something diabolical, or she had simply let it go. But Medic knew that woman and he knew her well, and he also knew that the Armageddon was more likely to happen than the latter. She definitely had something _special_ planned for the doctor. The very thought of it made him more anxious than he's felt in a long time.

Medic pushed himself off of his desk with a small grunt, rotating both of his shoulders and then neck to stretch them, wincing a bit as he straightened his head. He circled around his desk to the small drawers that it held and slid them open carefully to deter any noise. The doctor was well aware that Spy was still not conscious, but he didn't want to risk anything.

His fingers danced along the tops of each file as they pushed them aside to find one certain folder. However a heavy hand on his shoulder made him jump, a folder flying out with him. He whipped quickly around to see whoever startled him, completely ready to give a rather harsh scolding, but his vicious expression softened to a sigh when he saw it was just Heavy standing behind him, a recoiled hand and a farrowed brow.

"Something is wrong?" asked the brute, Medic shaking his head in response.

"Nein, just still a bit jumpy from today's battle still." said the doctor, gathering the file that had spilled its papers all over his desk and the floor. After collecting all of the stray papers – not without looking around at least three or four times to make sure he didn't miss anything, of course – he closed the folder entitled _"Respawn System Notes"_ and stuffed it under his arm.

"Would you mind keeping an eye on Spy again while I go to check on something?" he asked, already making his way to the large metal doors.

"Da, of course." Heavy agreed when the doctor was no longer within earshot, casting a glace at the unconscious Frenchman through the glass doors of the infirmary next to him. He entered the room and sat on the small chair that was placed next to Spy's temporary bed. The object groaned under his weight, almost threatening to break, but it held steady.

From under his own arm he pulled out a small paperback book that looked comically small in his hands, and flipped through the pages to find where he left off last. His eyes skimmed through the words and danced over to the monitor that hung to the right of Spy's bed to make sure everything was in working order. In the last two weeks that Heavy had been with Medic, the good doctor had taught him quite a bit about the science of medicine. Some of it was rather complicated, but Heavy felt confident that he knew enough to act if something were to go wrong.

Spy had been relatively stable, with a few close calls here and there, but it was nothing that Medic or Heavy couldn't handle. It made the Russian wonder, however, just what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Obviously it had been someone from BLU, and it had been quite some fight based on the assassins injuries. Injuries severe enough to warrant Medic having to cut the other man's mask off because of swelling.

Heavy felt as if he was invading Spy's privacy, or betraying his trust in a way for being able to freely look upon the other man's face. He didn't allow his eyes to linger for long, no matter how curious he was about the finer details of the man's face.

Spy had began to move quite a bit lately, however, his body fidgeting as the muscles in his face continued their attempts at pulling and contracting into an expression.

The Russian returned his eyes to his book, a beaten up and battered copy of _"__The Great Gatsby__"_ that had seen better days sitting in his hands, his large fingers turning the page to "Chapter V". He was enjoying this particular piece of American literature, it had been recommended to him by Medic himself when the brute had complained about having no more books to read.

Heavy had some trouble with some of the wording and the idioms that were used during 1920s America, but that was to be expected from a man whose first language was not English.

He looked up again when Spy softly groaned, body moving more than it has since he was put into this coma. When he did nothing more, Heavy looked away again. Spy's eyes had uneasily flickered open when he did, wincing hard due to the lights on the ceiling. A now guttural groan came from his throat as his right hand met his face to rub his sore eyes.

The assassin noticed a distinct lack of a balaclava, but he wouldn't panic yet. The doctor had seen him without his mask before, although he was just as less than pleased with that as well. But the doctor was not with him in this room, no. The heavy, clearing of a throat gave away who it was. And it certainly wasn't Medic.

His heart rate steadily rose in his nervousness, the heart monitor he was connected to picking this up. Heavy nearly jumped when he looked over and found his comrade's dim blue eyes fixed on him in a glare.

"Welcome back." said the man simply, once again returning to his book.

"Where is my mask?" Spy asked, his voice far too hoarse for his liking.

"Doktor had to remove it because of swelling." the Russian answered.

Spy opened his mouth to bark a snide comment, but the masculine figure of Medic appearing in the doorway of the infirmary stopped him and gained his interest. The man walked right by, however, opening one of the many cabinets that lined the walls. He took out an empty syringe and a vial of strange liquid that Spy couldn't place a name to. The doctor had stuck the needle into the vial's cap as he closed the cabinet's door.

"I hope you're not planning to force that into me." said Spy, and the doctor flinched as he looked up.

"Oh, you're awake!" Medic noticed with a surprisingly delighted tone. "This is good. How are you feeling?" He placed the vial down to took a set of files from under his arm into his now free hand, opening it and flicking through the papers.

"Violated." Spy hissed. "Where is my mask." His words were now more of a statement than a question, and Medic sighed.

"I apologize, but in order to remove it past the swelling I had to cut it off." he admitted, and Spy looked less than pleased.

"And why is _he_ in here?" the Frenchman growled, referring to Heavy.

"Because I needed help keeping _you_ alive."

"I trusted you to-"

"I understand your concern involving your identity, but if Heavy wanted you gone or the price on your head, he would have turned you in long ago." Medic snapped, defending his friend.

"He's had two weeks to do so if he wished, so I doubt he would have waited until now to do anything."

"Pardon moi?" said Spy suddenly, eyebrows raised slightly. "Did I hear that right?"

"Was?"

"You said two weeks. Is that how long I've been gone?"

"Ja, unfortunately." Medic sighed as he placed the folder back down and went over to his patient, checking various readings on the monitor that sat on the wall.

"Your head took most of the damage done to you, and the trauma was causing your brain to swell. It only started receding a few days ago." Medic explained.

"It is amazing that you do not seem to have any lasting affects, means I acted in time."

"But why? Why am I in this position? Why didn't the Respawn System fix this when it first happened?"

Medic and Heavy flashed an uneasy look at each other.

"What?" Spy questioned further, becoming annoyed when he continued to go unanswered. "I'm _waiting_."

Medic heaved another sigh and looked at the assassin now, who had himself propped up on one elbow. There was a slight wince on his face, but answers were more important than the pain at the moment.

"Because the Respawn System is failing." the doctor said in a small voice, and Spy's eyebrows only went further up his head.

"Say again?"

"It is failing, which explains why it has been taking considerably longer to respawn each battle battle, why the burns on Scout's arms remained even after going through the System, and why you came out in worse condition than that of going in.

"Everyone else already knows, which I was hoping they would not have to be told until I knew how to fix it. Unfortunately, it's hard to keep that detail from being exposed when I myself had to fix the damage done to you surgically." explained the man fully.

"But... On the bus coming to this base you said it was only a small malfunction it was experiencing." Spy added, remembering the day he and the paramedic had had a lengthy discussion about what the man had been working on the entire bus ride.

"Ja, but I wasn't aware that it was going to get this bad. Engineer and I have been working on it for as long as you've been unconscious, and we are making progress, however slow."

"I see." was all Spy had left to say before his own weakness forced him to lay back down into the cot. He pressed his hand to the wound on his side, wincing as he did so. It was still rather tender and it still had a dull ache to it that was enough to make Spy uncomfortable.

Heavy was still reading, Medic had gone out into his office with the folder he had before, and Spy could hear the doves shifting around on the rafters out in the office, cooing to each other and no doubt at Medic himself. The Frenchman's eyes were put to the ceiling, being careful not to linger too long on the lights above him.

So the Respawn System was failing and to the point where it wasn't healing severe wounds that meant life or death. Spy had been unconscious for two weeks or maybe more, he had no mask, no way to stand without collapsing, and he was so sore that it was unbearable.

Fantastic.

"Heavy," Spy spoke again, not removing his eyes from the ceiling that hung over his head, and the brute answered with a hum.

"The details of my face or any part of my identity that you may have learned these past two weeks does _not _leave your lips or this room. Understood?"

"Da, of course."

* * *

><p>The doctor was shaking his leg as he worked, completely focused on what he was writing in an old, beat up notebook. Heavy had left about an hour ago, and he had left the door to the infirmary open so Spy had his eyes to the rafters where the doves normally spent their day and watched them as they hopped around. They cooed and groomed each other, Archimedes eventually flying down and landing on Medic's shoulder. The doctor responded by scratching the bird's neck before returning to his work.<p>

The beep of the heart monitor seemed to be getting louder the more the mercenary focused on it, and part of him wanted to rip the wiring out of the damn thing, but another, larger part wouldn't enjoy the silence that would ensue.

He was so... _bored_. It was all boring to him. The monitor, the IV that was attached to his arm, laying there completely still as he stared at nothing. What what he supposed to do with his time?

There was a soft knock on the large metal doors of Medic's office, and Spy tensed when the doctor had granted them permission of access by telling them it was open. He relaxed slightly when Ms. Pauling's gentle voice greeted Medic as she walked in. She had seen Spy's face before, several times. He trusted her, but he would still be on his guard.

"Engineer wanted me to let you know that the Medigun should be running normally now." said the assistant, Medic nodding his thanks with a smile before returning attention to his work. The woman looked over into the infirmary and smiled warmly when she saw Spy looking back at her. The assassin couldn't help but smile back as she walked in, kneeling down slightly and gently stroking his hair back.

"How are you feeling, Spy?" she asked.

"Certainly better now that you're here, ma chérie." answered the Frenchman, a slight rose colouring flushing Ms. Pauling's face as she smiled again sheepishly.

"Mein Gott." Medic groaned from his office with a roll of his eyes.

"Such a flirt even while you're injured," the woman laughed, and Spy shrugged nonchalantly. "But that's how I _know_ you're okay." She stood then, slightly squeezing Spy's shoulder before turning on her heel and returning to Medic's office. Now she had her hand on the doctor's shoulder, leaning down slightly to get her mouth close to his ear. She said something that Spy couldn't hear, but he was genuinely curious as to what she was saying to the German.

The man had only answered her with a slight hum, and then sighed when she said something else.

"Verstanden." he said finally, and Ms. Pauling then took her leave.

"What was that about?" Spy called out to the doctor, the man snorting in response.

"Do not worry about it."

"Having an affair with the assistant, are we?" joked Spy with a grin.

"With how you act when she's around, I could ask you the same question, herr Spy." Medic shot back and stood. He walked out of Spy's sight for a moment, but by the sound of the man's short grunts, it was easy to tell that he was lifting up the Medigun. His guess was justified when the man walked in with the healing equipment and made his way to the operation table.

He hooked the machine up to its port above the table, connected all the wires that needed to be connected in order for it to work the way Medic wanted it to. The Medigun growled loudly and menacingly for moment as it was flicked on, eventually calming down to a dull hum as Medic made his way over to Spy. The doctor sat the other man up, carefully taking the IV out of his arm and removing the clip from his finger that connected to the Heart Monitor. An annoying drone filled the room as he did so, flicking the screen off quickly as if he was annoyed by it as well.

Spy was helped into a standing position, and would have collapsed under his own weight if Medic hadn't caught him, hand still clutching his side and a long, soft groan was coming out of his throat. The medical gown Spy found himself dressed in was slightly embarrassing and he did his best to keep the back of it closed as he sat on the operation table.

The German doctor allowed the gentle healing rays to drift slowly into Spy's body, and the mercenary breathed in deep as an overwhelming amount of his pain was being washed away. He watched as Medic fiddled with something on the back of the Medigun, his lips pursing in annoyance when something wasn't going right.

"What is this... _thing_?" Spy asked, gesturing to the gown he wore.

"I dressed you in it." Medic said, not even looking at the other man.

"_Why_?"

"Because your suit was all bloody and torn?"

Spy sighed. "Mon Dieu, does privacy mean nothing to you?"

Medic snorted. "Oh please, it's not like I have not seen it all before."

Now Spy scoffed. "Because of medical reasons or of personal matters?"

"Both."

Oh.

Spy shut up, then, his eyes keeping to the floor as the Medigun continued its work. By the now neutral expression that sat on Medic's face, whatever he was trying to do was working. Or it wasn't and he was doing a good job of hiding his frustration. The Frenchman's eyes continued to dance over to the doctor, watching as the man was doing whatever he was attempting to do to the equipment he relied on on a regular basis

The Frenchman wondered if the Respawn System was as bad as the doctor said it was. Though the fact that he was sitting here in pain should have been proof enough, but for whatever reason, a small part of him wanted to deny what was really going on. That there was a possibility that they all could actually die if this problem wasn't solved.

Medic mumbled a German curse to himself after he was shocked, roughly shoving something back into place. The intensity of the beam suddenly increased, Spy fidgeting slightly under it as he felt the shift. Suddenly the other man left, walking into his office and opened a storage cabinet. Spy couldn't tell what he held and was carrying back into the infirmary at first, but it was revealed to him when he placed them onto the cot that Spy was once laying on.

It was a suit jacket, pants, shirt, tie, gloves and a mask.

"Iron them yourself?" Spy teased.

"Heavy did, actually."

Spy merely hummed, disappointed that the doctor didn't entertain his antics. Nevertheless, once Medic turned the Medigun off, the assassin hopped back onto his feet, a new found strength coursing through him. The man then left again, closing the door behind him as he allowed Spy the privacy of dressing himself this time.

* * *

><p>The mercenary walked back out into Medic's office with a prideful stride, fixing the cuff of his sleeve. He was dressed back as he should be in a pinstripe suit and balaclava, and he asked where his gun and equipment was. Medic pointed his pen in the direction of the now-locked storage cabinet that he got Spy's suit out of. The doctor tossed him the keys and the assassin opened the locker after unlocking it and seeing the Ambassador as it sat respectively on the top shelf, the barrel pointed away from the opening.<p>

The Dead Ringer wasn't as impressive as the gun, however, it was quite broken from being thrown harsh against a brick wall. He wasn't even entirely sure he could fix it.

"Merde." he sighed to himself, stuffing the device and his gun into the proper places in his jacket. He took his cigarette case that doubled as a disguise device and the sapper, putting those where they needed to be before going to close the locker again. However, he noticed something right before he closed it.

A small case with beaten up and faded leather as its covering with part of its zipper broken was pushed against the cabinet's wall on the bottom shelf. The part of the zipper that was broken left whatever was inside exposed to anything could fit through the opening, which was most likely why it was hidden away as it was. Spy knew exactly what it was, however, and it had been quite sometime since he's seen one.

"Docteur,"Spy started, kneeling down to fish the case out of its hiding place.

"Hm?" answered Medic, looking up from his paperwork to look at the other man.

"I had no idea you played." said the Frenchman, pulling out a rather old looking violin. It was still in impressive shape despite a few blemishes, and he was sure those were able to all tell stories of their own in some way or another.

"Oh, that old thing." Medic scoffed, almost completely dismissing the instrument the assassin held carefully in his gloved hands. "I had honestly forgotten that I still had it."

"Has it been that long since you've last played?"

"Ja."

Spy gently plucked one of the strings, wincing at the whining sound that it made.

"It's horribly out of tune," he pointed out. "May I?"

The doctor waved his hand in a gesture that expressed his approval, and the Frenchman sat himself on the chair that was in front of Medic's desk. He rested the violin carefully on his lap, plucking the strings and turning the pegs accordingly. Medic couldn't help but watch, his brow slightly farrowed at his comrade's actions.

"Have you played before?" he asked, Spy slightly shrugging in response.

"I used to. A very long time ago." admitted the assassin, not taking his eyes off the strings. He used his foot to pull over the violin's case to grab the bow inside. He looked around the case's pockets to find rosin, gently rubbing the amber coloured block against the fine horse hairs of the bow once he found it.

The man put the instrument to his shoulder and ran the bow along the strings to fine tune their sound. Medic was actually impressed, but he supposed a skill learned cannot be easily forgotten, no matter how little it was practiced after a long period of time. The assassin then stood, pulling his chair to place himself next to the doctor at his desk.

He inspected the instrument carefully, then, taking in how old it must have been after seeing all the scars from decades of use. Scratches, smudges, finger prints, residue from multiple uses of rosin, and even a large, barely noticeable crack going from the bottom down to the violin's neck. Suggesting that it had been dropped, or fell, and was repaired by an expert. Spy wondered if it was Medic himself who had fixed it.

Nevertheless, he handed the old instrument to its owner, Medic farrowing his brow in his confusion.

"Play for me, Docteur." the Frenchman's voice was smooth, genuine. It was like silk as it poured from his throat, and it was highly distracting. They were four, simple words. Four simple words said to Medic, and it had left him absolutely speechless and still. He would not deny that he slightly jumped when the instrument was placed gently into his arms along with its bow.

"Play."

Spy's voice was not demanding, not begging, barely even asking. It had a pitch to it that suggested mere curiosity than any of those three listed.

So Medic did just that, heaving the object onto his shoulder and wincing as it made a whining cry after the bow strings made contact with the wire. It needed to be rosined again, but there was just enough to play a short song.

His hand moved quickly along the neck of the instrument in a solid, almost fluid motion, vibrating the strings in a vibrato. The bow was ran across the strings almost majestically, each metal wire singing in its own, changing note as Medic moved the bow along them. The doctor had closed his eyes, focusing solely on the music he was producing. It had been so long since he played, so long since he was able to relax in such a way to produce something that might had been even mildly pleasing to the ears.

Spy watched with almost unblinking eyes, a tight smile on his thin lips. He once learned how to play himself, but that was long, long ago. The last time he had played was at his mother's deathbed, fulfilling her last wish to hear her only son play one last song. Her song. Their song.

He hadn't played since.

But listening to Medic play now brought back so many fond memories that Spy forgot he had. Memories of a young, fifteen year old him becoming frustrated that the strings kept mewling instead of singing. How his mother laughed and showed him how to properly rosin his bow so the sound would be just how he wanted it to be. Crisp, perfect.

Beautiful.

Just as Medic's own playing.

He didn't want to it stop, he wanted to continue to hear the beauty that resonated from one small instrument held in hands that were almost too big for it. The melody that came from each string as they all sang in a choir was of absolute perfection and grace. It sent his heart racing, a chill down his spine, and goosebumps along his skin.

And he almost whined in protest when the last note was played and Medic lowered the bow and violin to his lap.

"It's been a while since I've done that." admitted the doctor, eyes to the floor and resting the instrument on his lap.

"It does not show." Spy flattered, and Medic laughed slightly. The two men then sat in silence, Spy studying the man in front of him. It was obvious he had been nervous about playing again after so long, especially playing in front of someone else.

Still though, despite a few faults, the sound was something that would not soon be forgotten and looked back on with fond memory. It was something that could make any man who favored the instrument envious of the doctor's dormant talent. Spy couldn't deny that he had learned quite a bit about the doctor over the time he noticed he was being kept tabs on by the man. It had annoyed him that he was being followed at first, of course, but he had learned just as much about Medic as Medic had learned about him.

There were certain things that Spy had never really payed attention to that involved the doctor, however. He was certainly not unattractive, that much he had always noticed, but he never looked into the finer details. Despite his later age, he still had a healthy head of hair that only greyed by his temples. He had a near sharp jawline that was clean shaven. He was in good shape too and he took care of himself. The man was fit and healthily muscled from lugging the Medigun around day in and day out on a regular basis out on the battlefields.

It was... strange to be thinking so much into this, but for whatever reason, he couldn't keep himself from doing so. Spy wanted to learn more, he almost felt as if he _needed_ to know more. There was still so much to learn about the man in front of him, who he had been working with for almost a decade. He barely knew anything about him in the grand scheme of things. Barely anything known despite the simple things like nationality, age, personality, tendencies on the battlefield, and routines around the base.

That didn't feel like anything, though. It didn't feel like it mattered. It _didn't_ matter. Nothing in this moment mattered.

The only thing that made sense was when Spy pulled the doctor in by his tie and pressed their lips together.

It had certainly taken the doctor by surprise. His posture was now awkward, trying to keep the violin and himself from falling to the floor and taking Spy with them. He denied any access to his mouth by clenching his teeth, but that was perfectly fine. Spy didn't need access. He only needed to show his interest.

He was gentle, adding no more force than needed. He wanted – no, _needed_ – to show that he wasn't going to force anything that would make the doctor more uncomfortable than he no doubt already was. It was all a matter of show, a simple action to show his interest.

If that interest wasn't shared, well, he's been able to work through situations more awkward than this. Spy would still be a professional, he would still be a gentleman and handle it as such.

The kiss broke only because both men needed to regain the ability to breathe. Spy kept a straight face but wouldn't look Medic in the eye. There was no need to make the situation worse. Medic, however, had started at the mercenary with blinking eyes of disbelief as he tried to make sense of what just happened.

What the hell _did_ just happen?

Why? Why did he do that? That was the question that ran through the doctor's mind more than anything else, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted the answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but words had failed to make their way out so he shut it closed. Spy was a man to manipulate others to get what he wanted. Perhaps that's exactly what he was doing, and Medic should have known that. Expected it, even.

So why did he want it to happen again?

"Well, that..." he spoke when he found his voice again. It was now that he looked away to try and hide the redness of his face.

"That was interesting."


End file.
